Word: greenes
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...occupied by Negroes leads many whites to believe that the arrival of a Negro family is the certain prelude to garbage in the streets, broken windows, cockroaches and rats-even though these conditions are unheard of in such carefully maintained middle-class Negro areas as Chicago's Kingston Green...
Knee-deep in mud, the correspondent pushed doggedly ahead into Viet Cong territory with a U.S. Marine reconnaissance patrol. Later he was up and at them with the Green Berets near Pleiku, then hopped aboard a helicopter to participate in a 1st Cavalry airborne assault landing. "He moves like a worm in hot ashes," said an admiring U.S. officer, but that came as no news to the folks at home. The newsman was eye-patched Moshe Dayan, Israel's former chief of staff come to a war as a correspondent for a Tel Aviv paper. And as one soldier...
...pills are really safe, the formal report took refuge behind a double negative: "The committee finds no adequate scientific data, at this time, proving these compounds unsafe for human use." A committee spokesman translated: "We wanted to put a word of caution, to put a yellow light, not a green light, on the matter...
Moss on the North Side (Houghton Mifflin) by Sylvia Wilkinson, 26, a green-eyed elf from the tobacco country of North Carolina, is a lyric evocation of childhood by one of the most talented Southern bellettrists to appear since Carson McCullers. Begun when the author was 13 and rewritten intermittently for more than a decade, Moss transpires in the mind and immediate vicinity of a white-trash waif. The girl's mother, a cold-eyed prostitute, abandons her, and her father, a warm-hearted Cherokee Indian, dies of rabbit fever. Desperate, she seeks in nature the tenderness she needs...
...variegated nosegay of American letters, the Deep South's poetry of decadence stinks like a long-since-wilted magnolia, but Author Wilkinson magically refreshes its fragrance with images new as dew: "A green snake weaved around the rocks, rolling like a liquid in hot glass until the grass pulled it in and it disappeared." Language like that explains why the late Randall Jarrell described Miss Wilkinson as "the most talented writer of prose I ever taught...