Word: pistoling
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...unlocked a back door. Creeping upstairs to a front bedroom where Miss Amurao was sleeping, he knocked on her door. Politely, she opened it. "A man was standing there," she recalled. "The first thing I noticed about him was the strong odor of alcohol." He had a small black pistol in one hand, a butcher knife in the other. Then, continued Corazon, "he made me go down the hall to a middle bedroom. He stopped at this bedroom and awakened three girls there. He made the four of us go into the back bedroom, where two other girls were sleeping...
From other witnesses, Buford elicited testimony to show that the murder was the climax of "a broader conspiracy" among the three defendants and other Klansmen: they plotted to terrorize Negroes throughout the Athens area. Earlier in 1964, police officials testified, Sims pistol-whipped an elderly Negro. A Negro garage attendant told of being set upon at about the same time by 18 hooded Klansmen and beaten with a strap by one whom he made out to be Sims. On another occasion, a witness related, shots were fired at a Negro apartment building from three carloads of whites, Turner and Myers...
Douglas Watson is right to ham up the part of Pistol, since it was written as a satire on the bombastic acting style of a rival theatre troupe from which Shakespeare had seceded. Watson's gestures often clarify the bawdy puns; and, after striding a barrel as though it were a horse, he engages in a duel so vigorously that he discovers at the end that his groin flap has fallen down...
...said that every man, like the moon, has his dark side. Even the lightest of his books is pervaded with that gloomy conviction. He disapproved of his century, his ambitions and himself. In 1866, when he was 31 and a relatively obscure journalist in San Francisco, he put a pistol to his head but could not pull the trigger. "Many times I have been sorry I did not succeed," he said, "but I was never ashamed of having tried...
...Army Jeep slows as it corners on a bumpy, narrow forest road. From the back seat, two wild-eyed German SS troopers lunge uncertainly, then bolt for the nearby wood. A pistol crackles, and the running Germans plop forward on their faces. They were shot while attempting to escape, reports the U.S. Army lieutenant who gunned them down. Not so, insists a civilian witness: the troopers had been commanded to bolt and then were callously murdered. Getting at the truth turns out to be like peeling through several skins of an onion. First-Novelist Frederick Keefe, who is an editor...