Word: pleasants
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Perhaps the correspondents' most pleasant memories of the 1978 election are held by two men with greatly dissimilar experience. Senior Correspondent Jim Bell, who rode the Wendell Willkie presidential train in 1940, believes this year's Senate race in Massachusetts between Edward Brooke and Paul Tsongas was the fairest and most honorable campaign he has ever seen. "The two candidates," says Bell, "ended up the way they started: gentlemen...
...silhouetting plain wooden bleachers rapidly filling with fans. The Palmerton, Pa., high school band struts along the end zone, then turns smartly down the visiting team's sideline toward a roped-off section behind their players' bench. On the near side of the field, the band for Pleasant Valley High is already in place, alternating Sousa with the theme from Rocky, while cheerleaders flash blue and white pompoms. Five candidates for Pleasant Valley Homecoming Queen wait with feigned casualness in a special section, shyly grinning escorts at their sides. Just as it should be, the smell of burning...
...perfect night for football. These are archrivals, the Palmerton Blue Bombers vs. the Pleasant Valley Bears, and they are contending before a homecoming crowd. At the kickoff the ball sails up, disappears in the darkness beyond the reach of the lights, then drops suddenly into view. A Palmerton deep back streaks to it, and is promptly buried under a swarm of blue jerseys...
...game's opening quarter is a mishmash of mistakes. The two teams play Alphonse and Gaston with turnovers, swapping fumbles and interceptions four times. Finally, Palmerton settles down and scores. Pleasant Valley's head coach, Tony Caracio, paces the sideline, trailing assistant coaches in his wake as he wigwags signals to his defensive unit. Pleasant Valley fans sit in miserable silence. At times the only sound is the popping of shoulder pads and the grunt of linemen...
...DAYS when big business was so much fun. All those pleasant corporate execs used to caper around the office in their pleasantly grey flannel suits, every now and then molesting the pleasantly available secretaries, and all the while running the engines of the American economy at full throttle. Adam Smith would no doubt have enjoyed it, and probably would have hypothesized some benevolent invisible hand to direct all that frisky lechery and banality toward a common good. At the very least, he would have appreciated the healthy, self-enforced chivalry of the times: martinis at dawn, and to the victor...