Word: overcoat
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...from the window. There was nothing erotic in the moment. "Why don't you take off your clothes?" Allen asked me. It was no overture; merely a challenge and a joke. I felt no closer to the naked Ginsberg; he might as well have put on a winter overcoat. It wasn't a big deal to him, one way or the other. He had almost twenty years on me. A free man, he'd been through psychoanalysis, Buddhism, hallucinogens, and come to terms with himself. I felt stupid...
Such enterprise might easily be mistaken for coming to the picnic in overcoat and vest, especially since the Philharmonic is a beginner at a game best played in Boston, and a rather stuffy beginner at that. But the mood Kostelanetz was after was something on the order of refined amusement. The staid rows of amber seats had been removed from Philharmonic Hall and replaced by tables and chairs as closely packed as in a Paris cafe. As the orchestra played, the audience sipped champagne and gazed around the hall. To such a cheerful atmosphere, Kostelanetz merely wanted to add music...
...immediate as a crucifixion." So can his emblems, during these times of integration struggles, that proclaim YIELD BROTHER. His newest work, a diptych called A Mother Is a Mother and A Father Is a Father, returns to the figure, shows a barefoot man in hat and overcoat and a disheveled, barebreasted, scarlet-coated woman, each getting out of a Model T Ford. The figures are Indiana's parents, and the license-plate date is the year before his birth. "I have a notion that I was conceived in the back seat of a tin lizzie," Indiana explains...
...sped across Germany, Lenin telegraphed orders to his lieutenants. In Stockholm, there was a hasty meeting with Red agents, and time to buy an overcoat and a pair of shoes. Next evening, at twilight, the train pulled into St. Petersburg's dingy Finland Station, and Lenin stepped to the platform, unsure whether he was to be welcomed or arrested...
Cheerful Smile. The little man who has wound the Bulletin's fateful clock for all its 18 years is unbothered. From his jaunty blue beret down past his ineffaceably cheerful smile to his ground-hugging overcoat, Eugene Rabinowitch, 63, bears small resemblance to a prophet of doom. He seems much better suited to his other roles: professor of botany and biophysics at the University of Illinois, world authority on photosynthesis, a Russian-born poet who composes in his native language and has translated Pushkin into German...