Word: mined
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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...need to compromise principles involved in this type of compliance. "The press in South Africa has a very interesting history," he says. "Sometimes we can be brave as hell, and sometimes just as cowardly." Or, "editing a newspaper in South Africa is like walking blind folded through a mine-field," was the way Pogrund put it in an article that appears in the Autumn-Winter '75 issue of the Neiman Journal. "It is indeed a mine field of legal hazards...
...night is a minor masterpiece'" one senior woman said. "Oh, I admit the day is superior. But the night is mine. I think the day is more beautiful and more stimulating and a great masterpiece. But the night is waiting there for me to take, after the day has already been grabbed...
Maybe there's some sort of market for this star-studded blather. But for heaven's sake let Woman's Wear Daily mine it. They do a much better job covering the celebs than More can do anyway. What More should devote itself to is something along the lines of its original creation, something in the spirit of A.J. Liebling's writings on the press. Liebling dealt in matters of substance, giving examples from around the country about what can happen when you have a one-paper town, or how publishers force their biases into print...
...Land Mine. The stories-or rather, the collage of perceptions-are told by a woman whose last name is Fain and whose first name may be Jennifer (one friend, at least, calls her Jen). Success seems to have fallen on her from a great height. She traipses obligingly but glumly through a succession of jobs usually thought to be desirable: newspaper reporter, foundation consultant, college teacher, congressional staff worker. She is clearly getting somewhere; where, exactly, and whether it is a place worth being are answers that elude her. "Things," she muses, "have changed very much, several times, since...
Fain or no Fain, the author of that sentence is Renata Adler. Who else could hide a land mine under well-tended prose with quite as much apparent innocence? It takes a second or two to realize that intellectuals have been exempted from the frantic metamorphoses demanded by modern life. Why? The answer comes in bits and pieces: anyone who accepts (or demands) the label intellectual is automatically too dumb to deserve it. To prove the point, Adler puts her heroine through a year of teaching, "by mistake," at a Manhattan college, surrounded by "feather bedding illiterates" and "reactionary pedants...