Word: heard
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...they don't depend on LSD or pot to send them. You hardly ever hear of an ulcer or a nervous breakdown in the hills. The only air pollution problem is the smell of wood smoke on a frosty day. I don't believe I've heard a word about draft dodging or antiwar demonstrations in the mountains. Honor, manhood and pride mean a lot to the hill people. They are living in the coves and on the mountaintops because they like it there. They ain't beholden to nobody. Should we drag them down...
...usual cheers. The volume increased when he made his ac customed vow to force the Israeli army to retreat from Arab land "inch by inch, regardless of the cost or sacrifice." But at Helwan, which he has turned into a showcase of Arab social ist industrial achievement, Nasser also heard an unaccustomed chant that could only have chilled him. "Nasser, Nasser, Nasser!" the workers cried, "Change, change, change!" For the first time in his dozen years as President, Nasser is in trouble with his people...
Bricks & Stink Bombs. Nasser had heard the theme of change all too clearly only the week before, when Egypt was rocked by anti-government demonstrations. The trouble had started right in Helwan, where 3,000 workers took to the street to protest the leniency shown by a military court to four top officers accused of criminal responsibility for the defeat by Israel in June. Egged on by leftist agents of Nasser's own Arab Socialist Union Party, the workers attacked a local police post, were driven off only with riot guns. Their cause was quickly picked up by students...
...admiration is now in question, the populace is no longer entirely worshipful, and the possibility of a military coup can no longer be dismissed. The fact that there is no visible movement of anti-Nasser officers means little, as Nasser himself well knows. Who, after all, had ever heard of Lieut. Colonel Gamal Abdel Nasser before he led the coup that overthrew King Farouk...
...abruptly to a bloodless flower child running running running along Graduate-white walls, down the empty spaces of a railroad yard, into some urban junkland moor, all this under a categorically blue sky and the electronic fallout of Streetchoir music tortured backwards through a tape-recorder. A conversation is heard. The flower child finds a blackjacket friend reading Bronze Beauties Revue on the front seat of a broken-down auto. They talk in silence. Close the scene with a shot of the flower child sikpping stones. Near him a broken-down van sunk in backwater...