Word: packed
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...seem as implausible as a Nepalese surfing club. Times have definitely changed. Not long after the curtain lifted at the American debut of the Stuttgart Ballet last week, the audience at Manhattan's Metropolitan Opera House was cheering in disbelief at the light-as-air elegance of a pack of young gazelles from the edge of the Black Forest...
...poor sell-outs don't cherish growing up absurd. In fact they're quite defensive about it, so much so that they cannot allow themselves to see alternatives other than the one they have taken. How else can they justify themselves--after all the social conscience doesn't pack up her bags in a huff and leave. Like God of Christian fable she waits and knocks insistently, perhaps pathetically, at the door after she's been thrown...
Despite the growing alarm, Detroit continues to promote the speed derby. General Motors has just introduced an all-aluminum 550-h.p. engine for the Corvette Sting Ray; with that power pack, the car costs about $9,000. Ford hopes to lure speedsters with a souped-up Mustang, called the "Boss 302." The auto is built with a wing across the rear deck to provide a downward thrust that adds traction to the wheels; it also has fixed louvres as bizarre sunshades on the rear window. The still more powerful "Boss 429" has a 375-h.p. engine that will whip...
Panic was their principal symptom. It is not hard to see why. In the wolf-pack society of the cattle and mining towns where most of the man-killers hung their Stetsons, the gunfighter was top dog and therefore fair game for every pup that put metal on his leg. Inevitably, the hot shots became permanently over-adrenalized. In addition to a brace of hog-legs, anxious brawlers carried as many as four "stingy guns" concealed in their clothing. Even the great Wyatt Earp grew so tense, one story goes, that his bowels refused to move properly for a year...
After watching their men sleep for the better part of a week, the BLM administrators gave the order to fight a fire 150 miles out in the wilderness. Each firefighter picked up a pack, a plastic tent, a sleeping bag, and a huge, double-edged Pulaski ax or shovel and climbed into a rickety DC-3. The air was so filled with smoke that for much of the flight, the men could barely see the wing tips. At the bush landing strip, they saw sooty veterans who had been swinging their axes for 15 hours a day, lying exhausted...