Word: potatos
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...midnight-walking, driving, and once taking a ghostly ride through East Berlin's heavily guarded U-bahn (subway) stations. He also scouted the length of the East-West Berlin border from Teltow Canal in the south to Tegeler Forst in the north, scrambling over rubble and through potato patches, often attracting the nervous attention of the armed border guards. At week's end, Washington Correspondent Loye Miller flew to Bonn and Berlin with Vice President Johnson to augment TIME'S own "presence" in Berlin...
...been more vocal. At an East Berlin lamp factory. Politburo Member Albert Norden asked assembled workers why, if they had complaints, they did not use the officially provided complaint book. "Sure," came a sneering voice, "it's always full, but no one ever reads it." Out in the potato country, Central Committee Functionary Bruno Wagner was told flatly by a farmer: "One ought to listen more to the West." Refugees arriving in West Berlin said that lesser party hacks were unwittingly contributing to the exodus by boasting ominously that all exit routes to the West would soon be sealed...
...last the East German Communist regime of Walter Ulbricht seemed to be making a determined attempt to stop its refugees running out to the West. But they still keep coming. Last week People's Army patrols in camouflage uniforms stalked the spruce forests and potato fields in a twelve-mile circle around East Berlin in search of defectors; jackbooted People's Police and railway police combed all access roads, airports and railways leading to the city. But through them all the refugees poured across to the West at the rate of some 1,500 a day. West Berlin...
...have an empty U.S. cigarette pack "as a remembrance." Surprisingly, most were fearlessly outspoken about their dislike of Communist Boss Walter Ulbricht's regime. "Why did you come here?" asked a salesgirl wonderingly. "Why does anyone come here?" Quipped a bitter bartender: "Have a socialist drink: crush one potato in a glass, drink it fast and try to think of vodka." "Shall I describe how it is to live here?" sneered a girl government clerk. "It stinks...
Pakistan needed an economic development program, Morton Foods Inc. of Dallas wanted a better potato chip, and General Electric had run into problems building an optical scanner. For help, all three turned to the same place: Arthur D. Little, Inc., a 74-year-old Cambridge, Mass., company that has nothing to sell but brains...