Word: gobblers
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...Beautiful People made the opening-night party for a Broadway gobbler called The 90 Day Mistress, but there was a pretty good assortment of Not-Too-Homelies: Tony Perkins, Joan Fontaine, Charlotte Ford Niarchos, Tallulah Bankhead, Gore Vidal and Joan Bennett, all of them crushed into a Manhattan nightclub no larger than an orgone box. Best job of capturing the jaded eye was turned in by Angela Lansbury, 42, Broadway's ever-eccentric Mame, who was clad in an all but invisible microskirt. Angela's big news was that she had just turned down a movie role...
Last Stop. They did not have to. Early next morning Cambria County Deputy Sheriff Francis Sharpe, 37, who had spent the night in a friend's cabin under Gobbler's Knob Mountain, went to the cabin's adjoining washhouse. As he entered, he was shot in the belly by Hollenbaugh, who had apparently sought overnight refuge there with Peggy. Hollenbaugh ordered the wounded Sharpe to the deputy's car, forced the girl to lie down on the back floor, and told the lawman to drive the car down a farm road toward Highway 522. Ten feet...
...same day, Lyndon had stepped into the Rose Garden to accept a Thanksgiving turkey from the National Turkey Federation and the Poultry and Egg National Board. Eying the 40-lb. Iowa gobbler, he quipped: "I wasn't quite sure what I would eat for Thanksgiving, but I'm glad it's turkey and not crow...
Thick & Thin. Nonetheless, on paper Honey sometimes scores hilariously. "The waiters looked as if they'd staggered out of some old dark hole," she remarks, sizing up a venerable London restaurant. "They creaked and wobbled and limped and trembled under their loads, their turkey-gobbler necks rising pink and plucked from their stiff winged collars. The genuinely old-fashioned bad service that was being meted out impartially to us all was instantly recognizable as the real thing: a subtle, sophisticated Old World incompetence we Americans can never hope to emulate, the best our rustic efforts can produce being...
...native Tallahassee are from the palmy patios of the Miami Beach hotels. The Florida he remembers meant the jolt of a single-barreled shotgun on his shoulder and a bobwhite dropping through the yellow winter sunlight at the edge of a slash-pine grove. Or a 15-lb. turkey gobbler hurtling into a charge of No. 6 shot, and then falling through the Spanish moss on the oaks onto the dry palmettos below. Or the catfish, at his grandfather Brandon's farm, that stole his bait, sneaking off to its lair. Or how hot it was picking corn...