Word: minds
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Dates: during 1990-1999
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...whatever he did was done for his country. "My conscience is clear," he told journalist Nate Thayer in a rare interview last October, never admitting his appalling conduct, never regretting the countless executions, the million more dead of starvation and overwork, the living population maimed in body or mind, the entire country reduced to Stone Age survival. Nineteen years after the hated Vietnamese drove him back into the jungle, the evil that he did lives on in Cambodia's traumatized society, poisoned politics, governmental misrule and pitiful piles of bleached-white skulls. When Pol Pot died last week, alone...
...tiny stick of dynamite: 5 ft. 6 3/4 in. tall, with a big mouth and a short fuse. Once, deep into a negotiation to grab a billion-dollar bank, he waited for words until an idea materialized somewhere out of that Marine Corps (1957-59) mind, and he unloaded over the phone at the poor gentleman on the other end: "My board is meeting, and we've gone too far. I've got to launch my missiles!" (The not-so-gentlemanly reply, reported later in the press: "Go the hell back to North Carolina.") McColl never fit with the other...
...know what blew my mind more than anything else?" he asks, chuckling. "They had that book The Artist's Way in there, and on the side was stamped L.A. COUNTY SHERIFF'S DEPT. It just seemed so funny." Downey read whatever friends sent him: a biography of early BBC exec John Reith, Stephen King horror stories, inspirational works. "I can tell you a lot about the Bible if you want," he says. "Both the Old and the New Testament." He goes into a short, funny riff about what might have happened if he had had "some major spiritual awakening...
Sherlock Holmes drew out a fine case, puffing leisurely at his calabash while pondering each clue until he deduced the culprit. Detecting, in the quintessential sleuth's day, required more than an agile mind; it took time. Of course, times change. Two of fiction's newest detectives have the necessary brainpower: they're young (in their 30s) African-American professionals (a professor and a doctor). These women, however, are so upwardly mobile that they can barely pencil murder into their crammed calendars...
When Chase stumbles upon the body of Ella Fisher, a black dean, dead from an apparent fall, she's sure that the wrong kind of invisible hand is at work. She investigates the victim's death with two weapons: an analytical mind and an unabashed use of her feminine wiles. Flattering and flirting, she makes her way through the suspects: the playboy university president who promoted Fisher from the secretarial ranks, allegedly thanks to her talents between the sheets; a slimy comptroller with a repertoire of bilingual--but still awful--come-ons (as in, "You're looking recherche this evening...