Word: high
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Dates: during 1950-1959
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...comes from shape and whose beauty springs from mathematical curves possible only in modern reinforced concrete. Torroja is fond of walking his institute visitors under the sickle-shaped ribs of the pergola that spring from the outside wall and curve elegantly overhead like jets of water frozen in a high wind, explaining with professional pride that they are actually "Bernoullian lemniscates* with zero end curvature." Says Torroja, "Every mathematical curve has a nature of its own, the accuracy of a law, the expression of an idea, the evidence of a virtue...
...building up faster than expected. The figure: an accumulation rate of $5.7 billion, or $1.7 billion more than the early estimates. Much of the buildup was undoubtedly due to fears of a steel strike. Ward's Automotive Reports cautioned that auto dealer inventories may soon hit an alltime high of 1,000,000 unless production is cut back in late June and July...
...long-term capital gains (M.I.T.'s own growth fund). ¶ The balanced funds (Philadelphia's Wellington Fund), which keep their money in both stocks and bonds and shift the balance as the market changes. ¶ The income funds, liked by elderly or retired investors, which concentrate on high-yielding stocks (Manhattan's National Securities...
...temptation with Jack Lewis was to call him a banker's banker. He was that -careful, conscientious, orderly minded, a worker who went to Union Dime right after high school in West Orange, N.J. and trudged through the business from messenger to bookkeeper, from assistant head bookkeeper to assistant secretary, from assistant treasurer to treasurer to vice president to executive vice president and finally, in 1948, president. He dressed like a banker, in severe greys and blues, lived where the bankers live, out among the rolling lawns and towering oaks of Short Hills. He married, raised two children...
...pals: "The doorbell rang again, and it was Itchy Gelden, peering in, fidgeting and scratching his crotch. 'Like I don't want to bug you man, if you're busy . . . Are we gonna blow some poetry, maybe?' . . . He shambled in, mumbling his little high-pitched murmurs, half-words, more for sound than meaning. Itchy scratched because he had no skin; he was open to the world as a turtle without a shell, sensitive to all the world's hurt and all the world's love...