Word: hounding
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...Enough." Sloan makes it plain that he holds strictly oldfashioned, lean-hound-dog notions about how to run a company. "The final act of business judgment is intuitive," he says, and "no organization is sounder than the men who run it." He makes clear his belief that the chief responsibility of an executive is to make decisions-even at the risk of making wrong ones...
...Kirstein who brought Balanchine to New York in 1933. As a wealthy young esthete at Harvard, he was a founder of the highbrow magazine Hound and Horn and Harvard's Society for Contemporary Art; but by the year of his graduation (1929), he had become a heartstruck balletomane. After seeing Balanchine's Les Ballets 1933 in Paris, Kirstein persuaded the young Russian to bring the U.S. "a new art." In the 30 years since then, he has been Balanchine's unfailing champion, and has spent more than $750,000 of his own money* to commission new music...
Somehow they do. The homesick hound relentlessly follows his nose, poor old Bodger staggers after him, and the cat, snagging a field mouse here and a partridge there, has the time of his lives. At last, after three weeks of battling bears, eluding lynxes and floundering in raging rivers, the four-footed friends come face to face with the jagged Ironmouth Range. "Oh, Mother," says Bodger's owner, a heartbroken little boy who has been getting fragmentary progress reports of the incredible journey, "there's no hope...
...lump of sugar to a poodle on a leash, discovers that the leash holder is walking a baby, not a dog. He prances up behind a sports car to doff his hat to a long-haired blonde in the front seat, only to find that she is an Afghan hound, not a mademoiselle. In a nightclub he sets off a chain reaction when he borrows a cigarette lighter from a girl, discovers it is a lipstick, puts it down on an ashtray; the man at the next table thinks it is a cigar, gets lipstick on his mouth, is slapped...
...casino; abandoned without a Mr. Goodbar to her name, without so much as a nickel for a Nab in her pretty little purple plastic pocketbook; abandoned in a lobby without a Coke machine, without a drinking fountain, without even a television set-and only seven minutes left till Huckleberry Hound...