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WELCOME TO WISCASSET, THE PRETTIEST LITTLE VILLAGE IN MAINE. So reads the sign on U.S. 1 outside the coastal community (pop. 2,244) with its neat houses and manicured lawns. Across Sheepscot Bay, on Bailey Point, is a more modern symbol of Maine: the gray concrete dome of the 830-megawatt Maine Yankee nuclear power plant, which for eight years has provided 30% of the state's electricity. The facility last week was the subject of the first referendum in the U.S. on whether an operating nuclear power plant should be shut down...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Nation: Yankee, Yes | 10/6/1980 | See Source »

...fall of his senior year, Bryant met Mary Harmon Black, a campus belle and "the prettiest girl I ever saw." They were married, and after graduation Bryant took a job as an assistant coach at Alabama. He stayed for four years, then took an assistant's post at Vanderbilt. It was the first of many moves over the next two decades as he followed the apprentice coach's itinerant trail. "We've moved 27 times in our married life," says Mary Harmon Bryant. "I used to say I'd put off spring cleaning until I heard...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Football's Supercoach | 9/29/1980 | See Source »

...White House drive, look glumly at the gray Washington skies and fly off to his Texas ranch, declaring "I've got to see the stars again." Down there he would walk beside his small river, the Pedernales, and explain, "To a rancher, running water is the prettiest sound God ever made...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: THE PRESIDENCY by HUGH SIDEY: To See the Stars Again | 6/2/1980 | See Source »

George Boudreau banged home the prettiest goal of the night, a wrist shot that was bending the twine in the left corner of the net before the St. John's netminder even noticed...

Author: By William E. Mckibben, | Title: Matignon Captures State Hockey Title In Lopsided St. Patrick's Day Battle | 3/18/1980 | See Source »

...entered the world of the German gay underground. Peering down a spiral staircase into a dark, smoky room, I surveyed a collection of the prettiest boys this side of the Neckar. Freaks in wet-look plastic boots, shoehorned into their black leather pants, dotted the tightly-packed crowd, which twisted and throbbed to a deafening American rock beat. At the foot of the stairs an enormous man is his early fifties frantically attempted to attract the attention of a golden-haired sixteen-year-old who wore makeup in excellent taste, like the wanderer in Fellini's Satyricon...

Author: By Sarah L. Mcvity, | Title: Underground at The Whiskey | 3/15/1980 | See Source »

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