Word: honked
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...this noise about noise seems unnecessarily shrill, considering how much mankind loves the stuff. Italians put Alfa-Romeo horns on Fiats, and sometimes honk until the battery goes dead. Long before the chuffy steam engine, the average town was anything but a hushed haven of peace and quiet; one need only sample the nonstop bell ringing, banging and conversational yelling that still goes on from dawn to dark in any little Spanish fishing village. Men make noise as a way of showing their vitality, and they welcome the noises others make as tokens against loneliness...
Preserving the Place. Back at the L.BJ. ranch for the Thanksgiving holiday, the President took the wheel of his station wagon and, horn a-honk-ing, led a six-car cavalcade of guests and newsmen through herds of frightened cattle, sheep and horses. With Agriculture Secretary Orville Freeman, he hammed it up for photographers by trying to corral a mournful-looking steer...
Educational Honks. The Germans, having established a stable and working democracy, now take their death wish and other peculiar psychological needs out on the highway. Germany still being Germany, there is a hierarchy of cars, so that a Volkswagen has the right to pass a trifling Goggomobil but should never challenge a stately Mercedes. Furthermore, Germans like to play cop to their fellow drivers. Discipline can be instilled, for instance, by an "educational honk" of the horn, and if that is not enough, by a Deutscher Gruss, or German greeting, in which the forehead is tapped with the right index...
...they want to get their views before world opinion. Still, crossing the lines is tricky. "The technique," says one experienced correspondent, "is to wave something white, like a shirt or a sheet, and yell 'press' in the appropriate language. Drive slowly, don't get them startled, honk in the daylight and blink headlights at night." Last week, however, NBC's Al Rosenfeld neglected the technique. Waved past a Greek outpost, he and an assistant headed across no man's land without signaling. Rosenfeld was hit in the face by a Turkish bullet. He piled...
...paintings is to hear them. They screech and honk with the aggressive dissonance of city traffic. They have the staccato beat of a pneumatic drill. The strident reds, blues, and yellows blare with neon. And the stray words that seem squiggled from a toothpaste tube onto his paintings are like the hip, harsh expletives that slum kids spew into the summer air. Davis had violence without anger, gaiety without abandon, and his paintings swing and jump with such durable joy that it is as if he had dipped his brush in some eternal fountain of youth...