Word: greys
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Dates: during 1950-1959
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...just plain dull. (Not to mention the upside-down shot on page 231.) One of the most annoying technical failures of the Yearbook photographers is their apparent inability to decide what constitutes a true black--had they made decent prints from their negatives, photographs with varying contrasts (from smoky grey to murky black) would not appear side by side...
...coverage of athletic events is good, although the football pictures could have been better and the hockey pictures are both grey and puck-less. The articles cover the events well, sometimes colorfully. There are a few inaccuracies which could have been avoided (In the indoor track article, the "long-standing Harvard record" referred to was set the year before and "the record-breaking 50-second quarter" is hardly record-breaking...
...gangling (6 ft. 4 in., 165 Ibs.), snub-nosed, mop-haired boy out of Kilgore, as Texan as pecan pie. Instead of medals, he carried a well-thumbed Bible; instead of doeskin gloves, a single dress shirt, a plastic wing collar given to him by a friend, a ratty grey Shetland sweater that often showed under his dress jacket when he took his bows...
From the Union lines, behind the stone wall on the crest of Cemetery Ridge, First Lieut. Frank A. Haskell looked down on the forming ranks of the Confederacy: "More than half a mile their front extends; more than a thousand yards the dull grey masses deploy, man touching man, rank pressing rank, and line supporting line. The red flags wave, their horsemen gallop up and down; the arms of eighteen thousand men, barrel and bayonet, gleam in the sun, a sloping forest of flashing steel. Right on they move, as with one soul, in perfect order, without impediment of ditch...
Magnificent, grim, irresistible-these were the gaunt men in grey on the third desperate day of battle near Gettysburg, charging into history under Major General George Pickett. Their objective was the stone wall in the center of the Union lines, where Staff Lieut. Haskell and the veterans of the II Corps stood waiting, watching. It was strangely quiet: "The click of the locks as each man raised the hammer to feel with his fingers that the cap was on the nipple; the sharp jar as a musket touched a stone upon the wall when thrust in aiming over...