Word: pound
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Dates: during 1950-1959
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...pound tables and raise hell to get things done," says Link. "When the directors say tomorrow, I tell them I'm camping right here until you get going." When he was hired, he told Petrobrás brass: "I'm a capitalist and a strict believer in private enterprise. But leave me alone and I'll do the job." Link still feels that private foreign oil companies are needed in Brazil. "The more people you have looking for oil the better," he says...
...Paris attics or Greenwich Village cellars, printed on butcher paper, and usually as short-lived as May flies, little magazines were the focus and the forum of the experimental '20s, awaited by literati with breathless interest for the latest chapter of James Joyce, the newest obscurity of Ezra Pound, the next outrageous typographical innovation devised by e.e. cummings...
...west of the beach, aboard the mighty 60,000-ton supercarrier Saratoga, pride of the Sixth Fleet, the Navy's job for the day was to pound Douglas AD Skyraider bombers and Chance Vought F8U1 Crusader fighters out of steam catapults into a Mediterranean haze amid jet engine roars, catapult cracks, clouds of hissing white steam. The mission: to show the silver of Navy air power over Lebanon. But Saratoga's jet pilots, like all Navy pilots off Lebanon, got word to steer clear of a certain point just south of the predominantly Moslem port of Tripoli. Reason...
...debut) lives in terror of the SS; a Jewish friend hides out miserably in a bombed-out cathedral; a Gestapo officer hands him a cigar box containing the ashes of his bride's father. Worst of all, the Allied air forces refuse to let bygones be bygones, systematically pound his pretty city to tatters...
Abroad, a pair of artistic Americans were cackling their views on the North American vale of tears. Madly unpredictable Old Poet Ezra Pound, 72, predictably greeted Italy with a wizened arm raised in the Fascist salute, modestly named for reporters the U.S.'s best poet ("Ezra Pound"), said of his homeland: "All America is an insane asylum." With snatches of Water Boy, Basso Paul Robeson, 60, a well-heeled Marxist, flapped his brand-new passport aloft as he arrived in London for a concert tour. Question from newsmen: Is Paul in the Party? "I have a right...