Word: ironed
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Dates: during 1990-1999
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...Hoover commissions under Truman and Eisenhower, Jimmy Carter's zero-based budgeting plan, and the Grace Commission, which reported to Ronald Reagan. Some of these efforts did produce worthwhile reforms. But all were frustrated by the realities of the Washington power game. The savvy and iron-bottomed persistence of bureaucrats in protecting their turf is nothing short of awe inspiring. So is the jealousy with which Congress guards its power to spell out for government agencies, in the most niggling detail, what they...
From coast to coast, people are sealing off their homes and neighborhoods with iron gates, razor-ribbon wire and iron spikes. The home of Billy Davis in Pico Rivera, southeast of Los Angeles, offers a glimpse of the paranoia that is fast turning homes into fortresses. His two-story frame house is outfitted with motion-sensitive floodlights, video monitors, infrared alarms and a % spiked fence topped with razor wire. A metal cage surrounds the patio. Bars adorn every window. A Doberman pinscher guards the yard. And a security guard patrols the driveway. "The wrong people are behind bars," says Anne...
...most have already served their sentences. "We put more time into this case than those creeps spent in prison," snaps Charles Maddocks, a detective with the Bensalem police. "We slap their wrists and kick them back onto the streets." Meanwhile, somewhere in America, Mark Wills is probably pumping iron, and perhaps stealing cars...
...veteran aerobics instructor facing a shrinking class: in the '80s, a time of exceeding passion for highly defined physiques (you could all but see the viscera on some specimens), even our old, prematurely dark-haired President, a man known as the Great Communicator, joined the crowd and pumped iron. In the '90s we are led by a young, prematurely gray-haired fellow who jogs, yes, but most days turns a deaf ear to those who would slow his knife and fork. Call him the Great Sweet Potater...
...himself to make about how Washington had chipped away at his psyche after he joined the Clinton Administration. Last Tuesday afternoon, six months to the day since his boyhood friend had taken the oath of office and everything seemed possible for the men from Hope, Foster passed through the iron gate of the White House in his gray Nissan, crossed the Potomac River to a Civil War fort preserved as a national park in Virginia, and apparently put his father's antique .38-cal. Colt revolver in his mouth and ended his life, leaving those who knew him in stunned...