Word: mountain
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Dates: during 1950-1959
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...life intertwines his state's segregation struggle much as the Virginia creeper chokes the mountain forests. As the attorney general who argued Virginia's school cases before the Supreme Court, Lindsay Almond is one of segregation's ablest legal advocates. "Don't you kid yourself," says a longtime Almond adversary, N.A.A.C.P. Special Counsel Thurgood Marshall. "He is a good lawyer." Precisely because he is a good lawyer, Lindsay Almond understands that Virginia, in its "massive resistance" delaying tactics, is merely living from stay to stay. Sighed the Governor last week, "We might have to take...
...built on a scale to rival the pyramids. On the rocky crest of one of the foothills of the snow-capped Guadarrama Range sits a sparkling, 5OO-ft., white granite cross, visible on a clear day from Madrid, 28 miles away. Beneath the cross, chipped out of the mountain's solid rock interior, is a huge crypt, 780 ft. long and richly inlaid with marble. The crypt leads to a basilica 130 ft. high, whose dome is adorned with a mosaic depicting God, the angels and the Nationalists...
...France, geishas in Japan, Saturday night warblers in English pubs (but avoided Wales, which is "a tragedy; everything is Methodist hymns and Handel"). He has mapped the world folk-song families, found surprising links between them. The pinch-voiced, samisen-playing geisha finds an echo in the Spanish mountain-farm laborer thumping a ximbomba drum; "the lonesome, death-ridden American cowboy is a blood cousin to the raga singer in India...
...minor characters each preserve the rugged uniqueness of the mountain people: Pablo, the guerilla leader, animal-like and cowardly, dulled with wine and inactivity; Pilar, his woman, who assumes command when he no longer cares; Anselmo, the old Pacifist, who is forced to kill to support the Republic...
...Navy crash boat Queen Six, trolled for eight hours one day last week southwest of Newport. R.I. A novice in the sedentary sport of deep-sea fishing, he obviously missed the dry-fly casting in the frowned-upon (because of his heart) altitudes of Colorado's Rocky Mountain brooks. Restlessly, he watched sunlight sparkle on fish hauled into nearby boats, then cracked orders by radiotelephone for his escort craft, full of ever-hovering Secret Service, to find out what bait the others were using. A neighboring cruiser shared its successful white feather jigs, and another provided wire lines...