Word: infernoes
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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...fire could be brought under control. The screams of the dying carried into the streets as would-be rescuers stood by helplessly. One witness charged later that the police?whose station is located only a block from the Rex?made no attempt to free those trapped in the inferno...
...made out of the struggle between the bugs and the military-scientific complex charged with exterminating them. Unfortunately, no one seems to want to make tense little movies any more, least of all Irwin Allen, who has prospered with the likes of The Poseidon Adventure and The Towering Inferno, in which potentially amusing premises were so heavily encrusted with "human interest" subplots that they sank of their own weight...
...those words would have thought of young revolutionaries in Los Angeles, Huey Newton, etc. But not now, no sir, 'cause our society (Time magazine assures us) is in much better shape, and those words are a celebration of --disco. And you can see the people who brought us "Disco Inferno" by jaunting down to Lucifer's in Kenmore Square Friday, Saturday and Sunday. Yes, The Tramps will have shows each night at 9:00 and 12:30. We are not sure where the malcontents are these days, but The Tramps tell us "Disco--that's where the happy people...
...like napalm, it was an inferno," said a French visitor from Toulouse who had been washing dishes in a trailer that was spared at the edge of the camp. "People were running everywhere, screaming, some of them on fire." More than 100 were killed on the spot, most burnt beyond recognition. Another 150 or more lay writhing in the havoc, grotesquely scorched. In all, the fire storm that devastated Los Alfaques had killed 144 by week's end, and left some 75 injured, many critically. Not since a pair of jumbo jets collided and caught fire on a runway...
Like the trailing aftermath of a tremendous fireworks display, we poured off the bus, into "Red Sox Country", already sunburnt and still cooking, consuming all our worries and frustrations in a wanderlust inferno. June and her road chum went to a bar to get drunk, the retired amateur golfers hauled themselves over to the Holiday Inn, and I was suddenly alone again, hitching up the road to the Red Sox training camp at Chain-O-Lakes Park out on Cypress Boulevard, where the Boston sportswriters were furiously clucking away at their plastic portable typewriters with half-crazed treachery written...