Word: muchness
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...substitute for the metal that goes into dimes and quarters and makes up 25% of the content of nickels. Thefts of nickel from private warehouses have become common. Manufacturers in civilian markets are in a constant scramble for nickel, some of them patronizing a black market and paying as much as $9 a pound. Small businessmen have taken the hardest beating; they did not have the capital to lay in large supplies before the strike. Eventually, consumers will have to pay more for carving knives, stainless-steel golf clubs, snowmobiles, faucet handles and other nickel-bearing products...
Among the Paths to Eden, by contrast, makes much of its plainness. A widower, Ivor Belli (Martin Balsam), brings flowers to his wife's grave. Tending her father's nearby tombstone, Mary O'Meaghan (Maureen Stapleton) strikes up a conversation. Within moments, it is obvious that the meeting was no accident-the female mourner has been haunting the cemetery because it is a convenient place to meet unattached men. When Belli confesses that he has a mistress, Mary O'Meaghan bids him polite farewell-and pursues another widower taking another path to his wife...
...just take the games one at a time," he continued. "We've insisted that the boys just concentrate on the next game, and we've continued with that philosophy this week." As Munro states his policy, it is evident that he is trying to keep his own thoughts, as much as his players', concentrated on Yale...
...mass of people continued to file slowly through the dark corridor that passed itself off as 12th Street. A crowd that didn't look so much like a bunch of millennial radicals as it looked like a crowd out of a fifties horror movie, Exactly. That was it. We were exactly like one of those mindless crowds that takes to the street during the final reel of every fifties horror movie. Except that there were supposed to be a monster at our rear, but we had no monster. All we had was a bunch of methodical cops, crop-dusting away...
...year and a half ago, I spent a few weeks tramping about the country for McCarthy. It had been a strange experience, because, deep down, we knew that people weren't voting for McCarthy as much as they were voting for us. That was the only rationale for wasting an hour talking with a suburban housewife or trying to cajole a guy that you knew was an implacable racist into voting for Gene. All the time we had been nothing but walking advertisements, not always even aware of the dishonesty at the very soul of our campaign. Why else...