Word: pinkness
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Dates: during 1950-1959
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...another in a series of better-than-average Italian films. But the higher, she goes, the harder Gina has to work. She and Mirko have formed three corporations to handle her career and investments, and they have permitted themselves only two extravagances: a glaring red Lancia Aurelia and a pink stucco villa on Via Appia Antica, right next door to the place where the Empress Poppaea used to take her daily bath in the milk of 300 asses. They have planted 300 trees on the grounds, laid out broad English lawns, strewn the area with ancient paving stones...
...became president pro tempore of the state senate, clinched the governorship in a runoff election. Gary ran second of 16 candidates in last month's primary, but came from behind to beat fire-breathing William Coe. Biggest upset, however, was Oklahoma's choice for lieutenant governor: Cowboy Pink Williams, 62, a rancher (1,100 acres) who virtually rode into office on a three-letter word* banned from the mails as obscene. Last summer Williams got embroiled with the Post Office for mailing 300,000 comic postcards that pictured a donkey kicking "cattlemen who voted for Ike." He cashed...
...himself characteristically by the clock, Mendès quickly got unanimous Cabinet approval for Geneva, then closeted himself with three secretaries to dictate his speech for the National Assembly. Six hours after leaving the airport, Mendès was at his place in the government front benches, thumbing a pink folder and the white sheets of his manuscript...
...other hand, police, who first neglected to seal his apartment, later found therein: a marijuana cigarette, a red heroin capsule, two hypo needles (one taped above a closet door), a blood-splotched towel and a white nylon girdle embroidered with pink flowers. In the past 18 months, it turned out, young Thorne had checked in 24 times at a cheap hotel, always alone, usually under false names but only twice with luggage. He had not lived at home since...
...erosion of faith went relentlessly on. One day last week, a pink-suited Vietnamese businessman flew back to Hanoi from comparatively safe Saigon, 700 miles to the south. "I have come back to stay,'' he proclaimed. "Some of my friends in Saigon asked me why. I know who is winning. I told them in Saigon, and it is not you, nor your Western friends. I am going to be with the winners." In some villages, the Vietnamese peasants were seeing their future the same way: they were greeting the Viet Minh as liberators...