Word: mcleans
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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...certain mastery of poetic metaphors in English class. He dropped out for part of a term, and with Alex, he joined a North Carolina band called the Fabulous Corsayers that played straight rock 'n' roll. Back at Milton, he grew suicidal, and at 17, he signed himself into the McLean Hospital, a mental home in Belmont, Mass...
...praise for it because it genuinely interested students in learning. "We didn't have that jive nothingness that pushes most kids through high school," he says. "You can't tell a whole bunch of potential suicides that they must have a high school diploma." Indeed, for the Taylors, the McLean experience would soon become what Harvard is for the Saltonstalls?something of a family tradition. Hardly had James graduated when Brother Livingston turned up after withdrawing from a Quaker school in Westtown, Pa. By the time Kate arrived in 1967?on a transfer from the Cambridge School of Weston, Mass...
Milton cost $2,700 a year. McLean customarily runs around $36,000. But besides structure and schooling, it provided James with an opportunity to think. He began to reflect upon what it takes to survive?beyond sensitivity and naked faith in human nature. Says he: "In a euphoric society existentialism would be fine. The way things are now, though, it certainly is necessary to have buffers like Christianity. To me Jesus is a metaphor, but also a manifestation of needs and feelings people have deep within themselves." After nine months of thinking things out at McLean, James also came...
...people like that." Taylor was also getting heavily into drugs, especially heroin. Zach Wiesner had quit the Flying Machine after three months. Partly from inertia and partly out of loyalty to Kootch, James hung on for a year and a half. Then he escaped?not to the structure of McLean or the tranquillity of Martha's Vineyard but to swinging London...
Paint, wine, Bering cigars were on his shopping list. He stopped first at the tobacco counter of a drugstore in McLean, Va. No Berings. He took a couple of 95? three-packs of Cuesta-Reys instead. Then looked at his watch. It was 12:45 p.m.-no time to get the paint and wine if he was going to make the basketball game at the local Boys' Club. He hurried outside and WHAM-the long arm of the law nabbed him. Shoplifting! Yes, there was the unpaid-for pack of Cuesta-Reys in his pocket. But look here, officer...