Word: page
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...protest to the Vietnam war as was implied in the article of the 15th, please have the editorial courage to say so and defend the argument on those grounds. Your inaccuracies and quibbling on the technicalities of University integrity serve only to devalue the worth of your editorial page and obscure the real issue you are concerned with. Ronald T. Luke...
...most effective shot in the revolution was a 42-page report issued in 1966 by a self-appointed Student Committee on Undergraduate Education. Based on questionnaires sent to 5,500 students, the report contained nearly 100 recommendations backed by arguments so well-reasoned that, says Dean of Women Alice Emerson, it "put the stamp of quality on undergraduate thinking." In response, Penn administrators approved such changes as allowing students to take one course a semester on a "pass or fail" basis, fashion their own individualized major and sit on curriculum committees...
Financial support is the main problem at this point. In an 11-page resume that the group has put out and sent to various people that might be interested in helping, the four claim that the project is expected to cost approximately $6000. Sulloway said that the group can raise about $2000 to $3000 on their own, but the rest will have to come from other sources...
...sure, I look at a writer's eyes. They tell me a great deal." Without the need for optic examination, she took on California Writer Robert Stone, whose excellent first novel, A Hall of Mirrors, was published last year. Agent Donadio had to pry every page of the jumbled manuscript out of Stone, and since the pages were not numbered, she had to spread them out on her living-room floor and rearrange them before the book was in shape for submission. Later, when Stone went into a navy-blue funk, she made him finish the novel. She also...
...simple bourgeois shot of the Prudential looking calm like Sunday morning and the sports page. On the pavement three dark figures from an ominous Other World spin a tiny street caper. Cut away and up through telephone wires to a rolling grey sky. Then abruptly to a bloodless flower child running running running along Graduate-white walls, down the empty spaces of a railroad yard, into some urban junkland moor, all this under a categorically blue sky and the electronic fallout of Streetchoir music tortured backwards through a tape-recorder. A conversation is heard. The flower child finds a blackjacket...