Word: lloyds
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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PALE and emaciated, the witness clenched his fists, blinked his hooded eyes and stumbled over his words as he relived the interminable nightmare. In 4½ days of torturous testimony before a Navy Court of Inquiry last week, Commander Lloyd M. Bucher recounted the details of the capture of his ship U.S.S. Pueblo and the eleven-month ordeal that he and his crew endured while they were prisoners of the North Koreans. The tale he told was one of almost unbelievable hardship and endurance, and it left unanswered many troubling questions about higher-echelon complacency and shortsightedness...
...choice that faced Commander Lloyd Bucher was between seeing his men shot one by one before his eyes or signing a false confession. He signed-and in that act illuminated the whole agonizing dilemma of weighing military duty against elementary humanity-and often against self-preservation...
Keep 'Em Flying. Most important, MEA had shrewdly insured its fleet with war-risk policies that covered the full "book value" of the aircraft. Since the line valued the planes rather generously on its books, it figures to get $17.9 million from Lloyd's of London and other insurers - more than enough to replace the lost fleet. The true mar ket value of each of its three six-year-old Comet jets, for example, is about $400,000, but MEA listed each at $1,500,000 and paid appropriate premiums. MEA will also collect...
Died. Welton Becket, 66, master architect whose clean, functional structures grace five continents; of congestive heart failure; in Los Angeles. Becket's eclectic approach lacked the individuality of a Mies van der Rohe or a Frank Lloyd Wright. "We are trying to solve the client's problems, and it is out of the solution of those problems that the design evolves," said Becket. And from his drawing board came buildings for ten of the U.S.'s top industrial firms, six of its leading banking houses and five of its largest insurance companies, as well as plans...
There were so many more, Steppenwolf and Jose Feliciano, Joni Mitchell's tart beauty, and the Charles Lloyd Quartet's tingling and dignified rhapsodies, but one special word about Procul Harum. They played two flawless sets on successive nights in front of the maedow. I remember them illuminated by the silvery-pink lights of the light show in the dark heat of the night crashing out their rapturous blend of music. Gary Brooker's expansively soulful singing, Robin Trower's eerie guitar, B. J. Wilson's deftly brilliant drumming, Fisher's streaking organ, and above it all the presence...