Word: martinisms
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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...messages, received a telephone call from a terrorist. He identified himself as a member of the Commando Siegfried Hausner of the Red Army Faction?the group taking credit for the abduction. "After 43 days," he said, "we have put an end to the miserable and corrupt existence of Hanns-Martin Schleyer. His death does not measure up to our grief and anger after the slaughter at Mogadishu and Stammheim." The caller then said Schmidt could "take delivery [of Schleyer] in Charles Péguy Street in Mulhouse." which is about ten miles from the German border. There, in the trunk...
Manager Billy Martin on the phone call from General Manager Gabe Paul summoning him to the front office hours before the final game: "I didn't know what he wanted. I wondered who had jumped the club now." (The beleaguered manager-who until that moment thought he might be fired-was given a bonus and told he would return to the club next year...
Jackson, who had battled (and once nearly come to blows) with Billy Martin during the season-with his arm around Martin after the final game victory: "I'll tell you, nobody better catch Billy Martin and me in a bar together and try to give us some crap. We'll be hell together...
...even contain essential elements of theatricality that have been too long neglected. When, for instance, has a playgoer been dazzled and dominated by a set rather than merely giving it the perfunctory opening-curtain applause? Edward Corey's set for Dracula at Manhattan's Martin Beck Theater is an eye-blinker. Broody, vaulting, magisterial, colored in shades of bleakest gray, it is a psychic tomb out of Edgar Allan Poe's haunted imagination. In perfect aesthetic juxtaposition, Gorey's costumes are funereal black, with ruby splashes in a proffered drink or a crimsoned pendant to accent...
...skull, rabbit ears and a rubber nose and is forever afflicted by uncontrollably buck-and-winging "happy feet"? "Hey, we're havin' sommmme fuuun," he chortles. Pregnant pause. "Hey, this guy is really... crazy! By now, any halfway clued-in cultist should recognize silver-haired Steve Martin, 32, a Dadaesque philosopher turned goofball...