Word: latter-day
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Like some latter-day Yossarian. Retired Army Colonel Edmund Castle last week told a Senate investigating subcommittee of his final battle. His enemy was a perfumed, persistent Vietnamese entrepreneur named Madame Phuong, whose friends included some of the U.S. officers and service club noncoms under investigation by the Senate panel (TIME, March 8). Assigned to the massive 25-sq.-mi. Long Binh supply depot as post commander in 1968, Castle discovered that Brigadier General Earl F. Cole, a deputy chief of staff at the depot, had authorized Mme. Phuong to open an on-post steam bath and massage parlor. Cole...
PepsiCo spent $25 million to preserve the bucolic effect. Business suits seem oddly out of place amid the meadows and groves. Thick stands of trees hide the 1,200 employees' cars from sight. The headquarters building itself is as low and lavish as a latter-day château. It is really seven separate buildings, linked at corners and grouped around a formal central courtyard...
...were a team of home-run hitters who preferred powering the ball out of the park to stealing bases. Mullin drew his Giant with huge feet and a pea-sized head, explaining that his intent was "to emphasize that they were slow-footed rather than slow-headed." Those latter-day miracle makers, the New York Mets, also appealed to Mullin, who portrayed their rush to the 1969 National League pennant on TIME'S cover (Sept...
...gave Beethoven's orchestral writing a brassy surface excitement that had a celebrity-filled audience cheering to the chandeliers. Save for a shaky Abscheulicher! in Act I, Soprano Leonie Rysanek as Leonore rescued her mate Florestan from Pizarro's dungeon with a heroinism that any latter-day Women's Lib leader would envy. Tenor Jon Vickers gave glorious vocal heart to Florestan's piteous degradation. Austrian Stage Director Otto Schenk clothed the production in medieval-dungeon darkness that gave way brilliantly at the end to the blinding whiteness of day-and freedom. Though the Nazi-like...
...Fall Off the Mountain" different from the usual drivel is that Shirley wrote it herself-no ghost, no collaborator, no pix and, alas, no visible editor. Though her prose is occasionally awful, it can also be crisp and energetic. The lady really is something of a latter-day Richard Burton-the explorer, that is. She has been trapped in a coup d'état in the remote kingdom of Bhutan. She has delivered a Masai baby in Kenya. In Bangkok she saw Buddhist parents "with static expressions watch their baby drown...