Word: jacketing
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...humble aspirant to an old master's throne, Ormandy has all the moves of a maestro to the manner born. He receives visitors in his Bellevue-Stratford Hotel suite (where he has lived with his second wife for the past 15 years) attired in blue satin smoking jacket and matching polka-dot ascot. His still-accented English has taken on the authority of a Charles Boyer, his pronounced limp (an old hip injury aggravated by an automobile accident five years ago) appears less a handicap than a charming idiosyncrasy. True, he no longer tears around town like a dragster...
...Jackie's party joined up with another group of invited guests, the Dove was soon flying high. The dancing began to Cole Porter records, but that was not what the gang had come for. "The fastest music you've got," ordered Jackie. She shed her sleeveless ermine jacket to reveal a glistening white crepe sheath, did the frug with John Barry Ryan III, the Watusi with Dance Instructor Killer Joe Piro. "All my nieces and nephews do these dances so well," she said. "I'd like to do them well too." Said Killer Joe later...
...with Liberace, it was manner and clothes that made the man. Playing the 20,000-seat Hollywood Bowl in 1952, he had a set of white tails made up "so they could see me in the back row." He had a little gold lame jacket added in Las Vegas and, says Liberace, "what started as a gag became a trademark...
...Metropolitan Museum of Art gave a black-tie party to celebrate the opening of its "Three Centuries of American Painting" exhibition, Edie and Andy stood cheek by jowl with Lady Bird Johnson, Mrs. Vincent Astor and Harry Guggenheim. Andy was wearing yellow sunglasses and a ragged tuxedo jacket over paint-splattered black work pants. Edie had dyed her hair silver (to match Andy's), wore lilac pajamas that covered nothing but a body stocking. Since then, they have gone to more parties than a caterer, sometimes staying for just a moment before moving on to the next...
...took up the jazz piano and earned a high school diploma attending classes at night. This autobiography is Brown's testament, not to his redemption but to his misspent youth. Nowhere does he explain what inner strength rescued him from himself; the reader must consult the dust jacket to learn that Brown went on to graduate from Howard University, and will enter law school this fall. Instead. Brown sifts steadfastly and self-consciously through the dung heap of his past. A little discipline of the sort that altered the course of Brown's life might also have rescued...