Word: mule
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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Candy-Man. The most memorable of the Southern stories are harsher. There is Candy-Man Beechum, the epitaph to a huge Negro mule skinner's quirky heroism. Loping happily along to visit his Saturday-night girl, Candy-Man is shot down by a deputy, just because the deputy feels like it. Candy-Man says that the deputy shouldn't have done that. The deputy says to shut up or he will pull out his gun again and hurry Candy-Man along. "If that's the way it's to be," the dying man says back...
...blazing sun for four days. The stench was overpowering. Everywhere on the fringes of the casbah and inside it were houses wrecked by mortar and artillery fire. Swarms of large black flies buzzed over pools of blood in the streets. For 24 hours after the ceasefire, ambulances, lorries and mule carts brought out the dead and dying. In Bizerte hospital, the wounded lay shoulder to shoulder on mattresses in the corridors. From a personal count of the dead, I estimate that the official Tunisian figure of 670 is accurate, with 1,115 wounded. Civilian casualties outnumbered military casualties...
...brothers had drifted south to organize a pool hall, bar and smoke shop in Los Angeles' Bella Union Hotel. Next year, after word of new gold strikes in Arizona, "Big Mike" Goldwater hitched up his mule team and set off as a peddler serving the miners' camps. Frontier business proved prosperous; in 1860, Mike put up a trading post at Ehrenberg, a riverside site he named for a family friend. Mike opened a bigger store in Phoenix in 1870, sold out to establish another in Prescott; at one time or another, there have been Goldwater trading posts...
Died. Clinton Strong Golden, 72, enterprising labor leader who clambered out of the iron mines (where he was a mule skinner at eleven) to become a founder of the United Steelworkers, vice chairman of the War Production Board, and director of the Trade Union Fellows program at the Harvard Business School; of a stroke; in Philadelphia...
...most painful experience of his youth, his four years as an artillery engineer for the Kaiser, has become with time part nightmare and part joke. He was, he says, wounded twice at the front: once by the recoil of a gun and once by the kick of a mule. It was "four years of nonsense," and when peace came he was ready to move on to France, to the U.S. (during World War II) and, lately, back to France...