Word: motoring
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...campaign of violence has been fostered by information gotten through the police, and by a consistent policy of police non-intervention in their affairs. In the past, the OAS has been able to learn classified addresses, motor routes, and meeting places of leftist and nationalist groups from the police in both Paris and Algiers. In their present intensified attempt to prevent a cease-fire agreement, they are counting on a continuation of police spinelessness and collusion to help implement their policy...
...points toward the 1962 manufacturers' world championship. Driving in the faster sports-car class, California's Dan Gurney, a three-year Grand Prix veteran, wound up the overall winner. He averaged 104 m.p.h. in a low-slung Lotus, managed to limp over the line on his starter motor when his engine quit 200 yds. from the finish...
Even the once miserable Japanese farmer, who traditionally sold his daughters into prostitution to tide the family over bad times, now equips his wife with gleaming appliances and works his tiny fields with a motor plow. In the big cities, housemaids, who 20 years ago lived in something approaching involuntary servitude, are now apt to carry a transistor radio tucked away in their handbags, may even be putting a few dollars a month into mutual funds...
...apprentice Packard mechanic at 18? an hour in 1926. By the time he joined Romney seven years ago, Abernethy had won a formidable reputation as a Packard dealer ($1,000,000 worth of cars in a single year in Hartford, Conn.) and as sales vice president of Willys Motors. At A.M.C. he put new life into a listless sales organization by flying 50,000 miles a year to spread Romney's gospel of the compact car. Cross, a quiet, analytical attorney, drew up the 1954 merger papers that created A.M.C. from Nash-Kelvinator and Hudson Motor Car Co., became...
...Italians, like the French, are fearfully somber about their soulless, hellbent young-who, if a succession of tedious new-and old-wave films are to be believed, are constantly chewing gum, listening to jazz, riding motor scooters and wearing sunglasses in every conceivable stage of degradation. Every now and then, Director Mauro Bolognini remembers that he is supposed to sermonize, and there follows a cancer-at-the-heart-of-society scene. The punks unbutton their shirts to the navel (male exposure is the latest thing in social cancer) and lounge around glaring at one another. Nothing happens, which...