Word: opening
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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...flaw in the anointment is the lack of time for organizing across the country. Others complain the party was unilaterally set up by a few wealthy liberals who are taking a "top-down" approach in general. But co-chair Harriet Barlow says the "organizing of the party is entirely open." The party will nominate the presidential candidate at a convention next March. The strategy now is to make a splash in the press with the presidential campaign in 1980, continue organizing at the local as well as national level for the next four years, and then go for broke...
...From opening day at Baker Field to the slop of the Brown game to the conquest of Penn, the two have meshed elegantly. "We've been working since the end of August, and we know each other pretty well by now," St. John says. "When he (Horner) runs a pattern, I just know he's going to be there. He's got amazing quickness and an ability to get open...
This social deficiency is one of the causes, or perhaps one of the results, of what I now see as Harvard's main problem; the steady decline of the humanities as a part of undergraduate education. Harvard's claim to provide a liberal education is very much open to question, when the picture of European culture that the average student acquires is so shallow, so edited, anthologized and interpreted as to be almost meaningless. From this comes a disorder and low morale among those committed to the humanities that is in contrast with the discipline and order of the scientific...
...master standing at the door of the plane, straddles my legs, smiles and shouts over the din of the wind and machinery. "I'm hooking you up now." He attaches the beginner's 12 foot parachute line to the static line, the string of lines that supposedly will open the parachute, secured to the plane. I glance out the window, raise myself up to get a glimpse of the earth straight down, let out a short moan and settle back in the cockpit, gasping quickly and irregularly...
...door whips open. The jump master leans out the door, the wind kneads his face, ripples slowly run from the base of his nose to the bottom of his chin. He smiles, a grotesque smile with the wind flapping his lips at a palpitating rate, the setting sun giving them an orange-red glow. "Step out," he says. I move one hand out the door but it is forced back inside by the wind. I try again, grasping onto the wing strut. I force my feet out on the step, the first and last step, pivot, face forward and raise...