Word: loring
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...Stewart's immediate plans for Lowell are based on the assumption that undergraduates do not spend quite so much time buried in their books as modern Harvard lore sometimes suggests. He considers the student of today to be a man of literary and artistic sophistication, and therefore a man sensitive to the physical appearance of the building he inhabits. Mr. Stewart would like to refurnish many of the Lowell suites, improve the lighting in the junior common room, and particularly, make some changes in the House dining hall. Believing that a House should be a place "in which persons doing...
...often as not, means little more than sharing a common stock of habits and lore: bagels and gefüllte fish, wistful jokes about schlemiels, the struggle against discrimination in country clubs-and childhood memories of the stately dining ritual on Passover. This, complains Theologian Arthur A. Cohen, is not Judaism but Jewishness-"the whole array of atavisms and sentimentalities which a secure minority can now afford." Cohen, in a fervent new book marred occasionally by some advanced term-paper prose, summons the comfortable, conforming natural Jew of the American present to recapture his supernatural vocation as a living reminder...
...reform. The predominant hoariness of the subjects is partly a result of Russian reluctance to open archives on recent events, for in Soviet practice, as one American put it, "What is history today may be non-history tomorrow." Yet by living intimately with Russians, the Americans are learning Soviet lore that should benefit their own colleagues and students back home. "Even buying a can of herring is an education," says one American scholar...
...provided they can find a sublessee to take the rap for them. Tales of recalcitrant electronic elevators with wills of their own, narrow corridors ("Every night when I come home it looks more like a cell block"), warping floors, woofing plumbing and cracking plaster have become standard cocktail lore...
...Miss yell spiraled through the crisp sunlit air like a football passed by Chuckin' Charley Conerly of legendary lore. Boys, lean and brimming with youthful vigor, horseplayed around-almost as if they were unconscious of the pretty coeds who watched them. Right down to the blue and maroon freshman beanies, the scene was of the sort to make alumni hearts swell with bittersweet memories of days long gone. But beneath all the laughter, beneath all the seeming exuberance, was an ugly, constantly recurring question. "When," the kids asked one another, "will the nigger come...