Word: midwesternizing
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...somebody who got along with everyone, who was obviously very bright but not aggressive,” said Paul K. Rowe ’76, who is also a Crimson editor and was on the Law Review. “He had a Midwestern reserve about not showing off how smart...
...however, the sandhills seem to inhabit a charmed world. Their persistent presence in that world stirs hidden human watchers. Midwestern Environmentalist Ross Sublett, an official with the Nature Conservancy, has seen the cranes many times, but at day's end, peering through the torn burlap curtain of a small wooden blind, he marvels anew at the squadrons of cranes landing in the Platte like parachutists dropping from the sky. Dark descends, and a full moon magically rises, throwing a broad moon-beam across both river and cranes. "What's the fascination?" Sublett murmurs. With the cries of the cranes filling...
...after a long career as an actor. I understand there are some wonderful techniques used today to solve a problem like mine, but in my day I just had Professor Crouch. Donald Crouch was a professor who had known Robert Frost and had taught at some of the same Midwestern universities. He retired to this small community in Brethren, Mich., where my high school was--and he couldn't stand it. So he dropped his plow--he was a farmer--and came down to our little agricultural high school because he knew we were trying to deal with Chaucer...
...Cronenberg's A History of Violence, a quiet Midwestern family man (Viggo Mortsensen) is accused by some visiting gangsters of having been a hit man in Philly. In Jarmusch's Broken Flowers, a retired computer mogul (Bill Murray) learns that 20 years ago he fathered a child who is now trying to find him. In Marsh's The King, a preacher (William Hurt) who a generation earlier fathered and abandoned a child out of wedlock must pay for his age-old sin when the son (Gael Garcia Bernal) shows up. And in Von Trier's Manderlay, set in Alabama...
French, Russian, Midwestern, and Nebraskan ancestry make me among the whitest of white men. Despite a whole life of effort I still can’t dance, and I still can’t jump. I carry the guilt of a privileged position wherever I go. It’s a hard life, that of a white male. Yet wallowing in my own pity, dwelling on the collective tragedies of the white race, and retreating into the ranks of my white brethren fails to provide me with adequate comfort. As a result, I’ve come up with...