Word: grime
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Dates: during 1980-1989
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...program gets students to make an investment of themselves, so that they're not just helping another Third World country, says Wills, a Dartmouth graduate. "What they get is the friendship with these people. It's not just grime and sweat," he says. "That's as simple as that...
Fire Fighter Jeff Brand looks like hell. His unshaven face is covered with grime, his eyes are swollen and bloodshot, and his raspy speech is punctuated with third-degree coughs and sniffles. "I'm sick as a dog," he growls. The dense smoke on the fire line in Northern California's Klamath National Forest has cut visibility to a lung-searing 150 ft. It is eclipsing the sun like a primordial fog and slowly choking the solemn line of fire fighters. Brand, 26, from Kentfield, Calif., pauses occasionally on the steep slope to vomit discreetly in the woods. "This...
Just after midnight on a hot, moonlit summer Tuesday, a National Park Service crew assembled, scrub brushes in hand. Its mission: to clean a year's worth of grime off the distinctive features of the 16th U.S. President. Once a year the 19-ft.-high statue of Abraham Lincoln at the heart of the Grecian-style memorial in Washington gets a thorough rubdown with special soap and natural- bristle brushes. Though Mr. Lincoln's baths are infrequent, their cost and duration are impressive. The twelve-hour cleaning set taxpayers back some...
...barrels, leaden boxes of ammunition. Their feet seem to sink into the ground from the overload they are bearing. They don't slouch. It is the terrible deliberation of each step that spells out their appalling tiredness. Their faces are black and unshaven. They are young men, but the grime and whiskers and exhaustion make them look middle-aged . . . All afternoon men keep coming round the hill and vanishing eventually over the horizon. It is one long tired line of antlike...
...with uncertainty and shuffle time with deceptive ease. A good deal of Peru's mournful history and wretched present are economically conveyed. Leaving the Museum of the Inquisition, the narrator is confronted by a score of beggars. "They constitute a sort of grotesque royal court of tatters, grime, and scabs," he observes. "As soon as they see me, they stretch out their black-nailed hands and beg. Violence behind me and hunger in front of me. Here, on these stairs, my country summarized...