Word: landed
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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...Soviets began deploying monster SS-18 superrockets, which can carry as many as eight independently targetable warheads, despite a treaty provision that forbids the converting of land-based "light" ICBM launchers into vehicles for "heavy" ones. But since SALT I does not define "light" and "heavy," the Administration decided that there was no violation. The report promises that this loophole will be closed in SALT...
...cliff edge, but long before they reach it, they are airborne. They head out over the water, lose altitude, and circle back to the beach, making long figure eights parallel to the cliffs, riding the natural updrafts that blow steadily from the sea. When they are ready to land they spiral up in the breeze to the cliff edge, turn towards it, and touch down...
...soaring above the summit, trying to land on the slope that leads to the precipice, when the wind stopped. Caught in a rare, freakish downdraft, the kite plummeted. When he saw he would be unable to land he shifted his weight and thrust at the control bar, trying to turn away from the cliff, head out over the ocean, gain some altitude and try again. He didn't have time. Striking the cliff about 15 feet below the summit, he slid 25 feet down the stone face to a ledge. Then the inland wind resumed and pinned the kite...
...weak dollar also threatens a flight of capital from the U.S., just when America needs more investment to create jobs, dig for oil and develop all those costly alternative sources of energy. Sure, Europeans and Japanese and Latin Americans have been putting much of their surplus cash into land and factories in the U.S., which they figure is immune to the socialism that infects many of their own countries. But they would invest much more-particularly in the U.S. stock market, which is undervalued and could use the lift from abroad-if the dollar showed signs of recovery. So long...
DIED. Phyllis McGinley, 72, Pulitzer-prize-winning poet, essayist and author of children's stories; of a stroke; in Manhattan. After a lonely childhood as the daughter of an unsuccessful land speculator, McGinley moved to New York, took a job as a junior high school English teacher, and began selling poems to literary magazines. Asked by New Yorker Fiction Editor Katherine White, "Why do you sing the same sad songs all lady poets sing?" McGinley began to find her own voice and to extol the pleasures and poignancies of the hearth, Memorial Day parades, the smell of charcoal grills...