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Word: mohawks (lookup in dictionary) (lookup stats)
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...working the Band vein here, but he is still writing in the American grain. Born in Canada to a Mohawk mother and a Jewish father, Robertson talks about American mythology, about leaving home in Ronnie Hawkins' barbed-wire rock band and touring rural America, about going "down South, where the music and folklore had enormous impact on me." All those great early Band songs (The Weight, The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down, The Shape I'm In, Up on Cripple Creek) were Robertson's way of measuring and transmuting all that experience. The material on this record just deepens...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Music: The Half-Breed Rides Again | 11/30/1987 | See Source »

...American, would be a cultural Natty Bumppo; when he went to Rome as a young man and was shown the Apollo Belvedere, the first nude sculpture he had ever seen, he endeared himself to connoisseurs by exclaiming, "My God, how like it is to a young Mohawk warrior!" Thus the white noble savage met the antique ideal, and West's name as a prodigy was made...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: ART A Plain, Exalted Vision | 7/6/1987 | See Source »

Lawrence Tero left the Chicago housing project to make his fortune. He came home famous, rich and decorated with gold chains, a Mohawk haircut and a new name: Mr. T. The star of TV's The A Team moved into a mansion in the leafy suburb of Lake Forest. Now Mr. T's name is mud. In a community proudly known as Tree City, U.S.A., Mr. T has been keeping chain saws whining to cut down some 100 or so trees. Allergies, said a spokesman. But Mr. T, surveying his emergent pasture in red shorts and T shirt, said...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Landscaping: Only God Can Make a Mr. T | 6/15/1987 | See Source »

State police had said Monday a fourth body had been spotted in the Mohawk River by a police helicopter, but later in the day officials said that was only a rumor...

Author: NO WRITER ATTRIBUTED | Title: Bridge Death Toll Up to Three | 4/7/1987 | See Source »

...what the hell are you doing here?" I asked, a hospitable gleam lighting up my cherubic face. The Dinosaur whirled, chains clanking softly against his leathery torso. A black leather coat--imbedded with steel plates and crusted with spikes--made up his armor; a gelled crest of blonde mohawk arced across his skull, calling to mind some genetically mutated stegosaurus. The Dinosaur...

Author: By John P. Thompson, BRAIN LINT: | Title: BRAIN LINT | 2/23/1987 | See Source »

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