Word: greeterism
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...mostly ceremonial functions, and in this role, Norris Poulson, 65, an accountant and former Republican Congressman, is an unqualified success. He gets to his office promptly at 7:30 a.m., turns to his task with an unfettered spirit, and even his enemies admit that he is a superior civic greeter, ribbon snipper and proclamation signer. He achieved brief national fame in 1959, when he told Visitor Nikita Khrushchev off in no uncertain terms...
Mounting a photographer's chair to get closer to the Prime Minister, the stranger spoke, and Verwoerd turned to shake the hand of a presumed greeter. Instead he stared at the point-blank muzzle of a .32 automatic. Pratt fired twice, and South Africa's Prime Minister lay on the concrete aisle, blood spurting from two holes in his cheek and ear. His wife flung her arms around him, crying "What's happened? What's happened?" Then she fainted. Verwoerd's personal bodyguard, Major Carl Richter. was a few feet away when, belatedly, he realized...
...should flit into Paris from Moscow but Izvestia's Editor in Chief Aleksei Adzhubei and his buxom wife Rada, daughter of Soviet Premier Nikita Khrushchev. If their general air of good will was any portent, the summit itself should be festooned with olive branches. To an Air France greeter, Newsman Adzhubei joked (in Russian): "You ought to have two classes on your planes - one for the thin ones, one for the fat." Then he grabbed a microphone, glowed: "I wish everyone a good year and, since I don't know French, I will try to finish...
...Bradbury, 38, is science fiction's suavest purple-people greeter. In this collection of short stories, his literary reception line includes Martians, Venusniks, mermaids and sundry oddball Earthlings. What the tales have in common is the spectral dread of a Charles Addams cartoon, a twist of O. Henry, and an occasionally vivid poetic image that some readers regard as Bradburied treasure...
...what Philippe of the Waldorf lacked as a greeter and as a symbol of the leisurely, intimate dinner, he more than compensated for in his mastery of the art of big-time wining and dining-and of educating thousands of barbarian palates to the delights of Rock Cornish game hen, crab meat Louis and cream of pumpkin soup. Any conclave of hungry and thirsty humans was his meat. "I won Goodyear Tire & Rubber over to pink champagne," he once boasted to a companion. Unexcelled at spreading a gourmet's table, even for the American Trucking Associations, he delighted...