Word: mutes
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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There he became so absorbed in his work that some of his schoolmates were under the impression that he was a mute. Bourdelle went on to the tradition-bound Ecole des Beaux-Arts in Paris (which he quit in disgust after six months), finally landed in the studio of Rodin. The great man admired his young assistant from the start, but in spite of his affection for the master, Bourdelle never considered himself a Rodin disciple...
Divided Family. In Paris last spring for the filming of Gigot (in which he plays a deaf-mute). Gleason was asked by an A.P. reporter what he thought of French girls. He refused to comment, saying: "I just happen to be a one-girl guy." The one girl at the moment is Honey Merrill, a bright, pretty, former showgirl who helps in Gleason's office and has loved him devotedly for five years. Before that. Gleason's steady companion was Marilyn Taylor, dancer and younger sister of his choreographer on The Jackie Gleason Show. She eventually left...
...Scott 310-D tuner (one of the most sensitive FM sets ever made) in conjunction with Scott's multiplex adapter, provides the household with music most of every day and particularly on occasions such as parties, dinners, etc. On the Humphrey roof it an eight-element yagi antenna, mute testimony to his interest in long distance FM reception...
While the citizenry was vacillating beween moral and economic interpretations of the affair, churchmen stood mute, says Gibson: "Throughout the whole turmoil, the irrelevance of the churches to the situation was evident. No statement on the affair came from the council of churches. Ministers confessed the sense of confusion they felt." Counting himself among those who neglected Pittsfield, Gibson says: "Now is the time when a cogent word on the whole problem of corporate moral responsibility needs to be spoken...
...where the housewife can leave her door key, and the corner delicatessen that stays open past midnight; the locksmith and the cobbler, and the florist's potted sidewalk garden; the front-stoop squads with time and chitchat on their hands; the old man gazing like a mute portrait from the frame of his second-story window; and the strangely silent Sunday morning, sweet with the smell of freshly washed streets...