Word: hops
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...sounds simply too picaresque for words. Two precociously bearded, middle-class Jewish beatniks from The Bronx hop on their motor scooters, Jenny and Couchette, and head west for San Francisco. But 25-year-old Novelist Beagle, who actually made this trip with a friend two years ago, recounts it with the special magic of the born troubadour. His pen is as agile as his eye, whether summing up Las Vegas in a phrase ("never meant to be seen by day") or invoking the excitement of cross-country scootering: "Jenny and Couchette slide in and out among the cars like moonlight...
...cannot be manipulated, wheedled, reasoned with. She's a whole different order of being, a whole different wave length, indomitable as a cat. Try to figure out what is in her head and you will go crazy. Inundate her in care and affection and she'll hop into another bed. Give up, or throw her down the stairs, and she will adore you. But not consistently...
...blare of brass and a gathering bloodbeat of drums, the dancers in the two long lines-men on one side, women opposite-hop forward, jump back, hop-hop-hop ahead, and then kiss-kiss-kiss. After that, both lines shift right so that new partners pucker into view for the next round of "letkiss," the non-dance craze that has Munich on tiptoe...
...mind yet whether I'm a liberative or a conserveral." Once in the Senate, he quickly made up his mind: liberal. Over the next six years Keating established a Senate roll-call record next only to that of Maine Republican Margaret Chase Smith, but still managed to hop the shuttle to New York two, three and four times a week to attend a bar mitzvah, a Negro Elks meeting, a Roman Catholic communion breakfast. He kept his face before his constituents with a regular radio-television show, Senate Report, carried on 36 New York stations. And he kept his name...
Fate Is the Hunter. Consolidated Airlines' Flight 22 lifts off the runway on a routine hop to Seattle. Pilot Rod Taylor takes a cup of coffee from Stewardess Suzanne Pleshette, trades a quip or two. Suddenly a bell clangs in the cockpit, a light blinks a warning on the control panel. "Engine blew," snaps Taylor. In two-engine-aircraft dramas, troubles never come singly. The tower reports three other planes blocking the path back to the strip. The radio goes dead. And of course Engine No. 2 conks out. Flight 22 crash-lands on a deserted beach, bellies safely...