Word: idols
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...Idol. Certainly, Van never felt entirely at home in the small, dusty East Texas town nestled in a forest of oil derricks where he grew up. He was born Harvey Lavan Cliburn Jr., in Shreveport, La., an only child, in the eleventh year of his parents' marriage. His father is a minor oil-company executive with a modest income, his mother a talented piano teacher who studied in New York with Liszt's longtime pupil, Arthur Friedheim. She was on the verge of making her debut under her maiden name, Rildia Bee O'Bryan, when her mother...
...back of the garage, equipped it with a piano. The boy practiced for an hour before going to school, again when he came home and again after dinner-except on the four evenings a week that he went to prayer meetings with his parents. Rachmaninoff was his idol. When Van was twelve, he decided he would win a gold medal in Moscow because Rachmaninoff had been awarded one when he graduated from the Moscow Conservatory...
...clear that $387,011.65 is a lot of Pepsi. Professional Corporation Baiter John Gilbert (no kin to the silent screen idol) asked if the apartment was finally finished. Steele replied that it was; he had revealed the loan because Securities and Exchange Commission rules state that company proxy statements must list and explain all financial transactions with officers or big stockholders...
Onions v. Wine. Though he lost an eye in Indo-China, he was sent to Algeria to take command of the crack Third Colonial Parachute Regiment. A martinet but the idol of his men, Bigeard whipped them into shape by running them as much as 15 miles at a time. He made them shave every day, no matter where they were, doled out raw onions instead of the traditional wine ration because "wine reduces stamina." With all-night marches and sudden paratroop raids, he won every engagement, became so successful at outwitting the rebels ("He thinks like a fellagha," says...
...police deserve credit for some sense. When Detective Wade Paris investigates a killing at the home of Singer Junie Jacques, he does his job so thoroughly that he winds up with a well-documented story of how a recording star is made. Everything falls into place. The greasy-haired idol of the sloppy-soxers gets into the book for good reason; the sex is there for more than the leers. Even the lunatic brother in the barred room upstairs finally makes sense...