Word: greenwich
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...flower people, a tattooed drifter full of love and laughter who turned on to every stimulant-from simple, undrugged fun to crystallized "speed" (methedrine, a high-powered amphetamine), which he occasionally sold for profit. Hippies called him "Groovy." Linda Rae Fitzpatrick, 18, was the daughter of a Greenwich, Conn., spice merchant, a blonde and dreamy-eyed dropout from Maryland's exclusive Oldfields School. Alienated by whatever obscure forces from her parents-both of whom had previously been divorced -she had traded the security of exurbia for the turned-on squalor of hippie life in the East Village...
Somewhere along the way between Greenwich and the odd end of Greenwich Village, Linda took up with Groovy, who introduced her to the never-never world of drugs. Other hippies sensed that Linda was "not really hip." She had been around only since midsummer, and they considered her a newcomer, a "paranoid chick" who was frightened by the scene but was desperately trying to adapt. No one may ever know the full sequence of sordid events that ended her adaptation, but as police and hippies reconstructed the chain of circumstances that led to the murders of Groovy and Linda...
...from an aerosol can of cocktail-glass chiller was a cheap and safe way to turn on. So Chip, the son of a New York advertising executive, began sniffing the stuff. Last week he bought a fresh supply at a hardware store and took it to his house in Greenwich, Conn. He suggested to his sister, Lucie, 11, that they both try it. It was 8 p.m. While their parents sat downstairs, Chip and Lucie went into a second-floor bedroom. When Lucie inhaled the gas, she immediately choked and lost consciousness. Panicked, Chip screamed for his parents...
...hopping mad last week - hopping out of cars, hopping over fences, even taking gates off hinges in their frenzy to escape the colossal traffic jams. One motorist needed 45 minutes to drive the two miles from the airport's entrance to the Eastern Air Lines terminal. Another left Greenwich, Conn., early enough to reach Kennedy a full hour before his scheduled 8:30 p.m. Swissair departure, only to find himself at the end of an endless, motionless line of autos when he got to the field. Both missed their flights...
Snow in her Hands. Joseph H. Hirshhorn, whose 5,800-work, $35-50 million art collection will soon be installed in its own permanent museum in Washington, admits that he and his wife bought their Greenwich, Conn., estate in 1961 largely because of the setting it would provide for their sculpture. "I could just picture the Henry Moore under the trees," he says, "the David Smith beside the pool, Rodin's Burghers by the front door. In fact, I bought the property in 20 minutes...