Word: pitons
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...Gera, 38, recently won a contract to serve as an umpire in the Class A New York-Pennsylvania League. She was scheduled to call her first game two weeks ago in Auburn, N.Y. Before she could don face mask and protector, though, she received a terse telegram from Phillip Piton, president of the National Association of Professional Baseball Leagues, informing her that her contract "has been disapproved and is invalid." Sighed Mrs. Gera: "I guess I just can't get to first base. It's a strikeout, but I will come up to the plate again. The game...
...some influential fans rooting for her. Her attorney, Bronx Congressman Mario Biaggi, plans to press legal action. Her case has also caught the attention of New York Congressman Samuel Stratton, who said that Piton's abrogation of Mrs. Gera's contract "strikes me as a clear-cut violation of the Civil Rights Act, which prohibits discrimination on the basis of sex." The New York State Human Rights Division will hold a hearing on the dispute next month...
...Quiet, Icy Death." The temperature at the base of the peak was 5°F. as the climbers began their ascent. Siegert and his companions hammered in a piton every 3 ft., averaged only 100 ft. a day. Fearful of the "quiet, icy death that sneaks up on you when you sleep at 20° below," Siegert allowed his men to sleep only in the late afternoons, and only in turns; at night, the Germans anchored their sleeping bags to the wall at 30-ft. intervals, shouted and sang to keep awake...
Young Glaser, a bachelor, climbs low-resistance mountains ("I'm not the rope and piton type of climber"). He is still devoted to music, and may spend part of the $43,627 Nobel Prize on a really good viola. His boss, Chancellor Glenn Seaborg, a Nobel prizewinner himself, says, not wholly in jest, that he realized Glaser was highly eligible for a Nobel Prize and enticed him to Berkeley just in time to get some of the credit for the University of California...
...were brutal. Clawing up a narrow chimney, Kamps was blocked by a huge chock stone, an 80-ft. splinter of granite that had fallen from above and plugged the passageway. With infinite care, he inched his way to the left. After an hour's work, he drove a piton into the rock, hooked a finger through the piton's eye and leaned dizzily backwards to search for a route above. Down below, the spectators stopped talking. Somehow the climbers found a way up the face, around the chock stone, and back into the chimney again. Some 45 minutes...