Word: proletarianized
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Dates: during 1950-1959
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...this election. As a door-to-door campaigner, as a driver of voters and motorcades, as a poll-judge and leaflet distributor, the student can at last make idea meet action. It is also, by the way, a chance for the effect and scholarly to encounter the inert and proletarian. If the campaign efforts of a doorbell-ringer or a pamphlet-strewer seem meager, at least there is always the "value of the experience...
...heavy on the air, and the stillness of spring nights was shattered by the popping of champagne corks. Despite repeated government warnings to tighten all belts, London last week was in the giddy midst of the most extravagant social season since 1938. "The British upper class," wrote the doggedly proletarian New Statesman and Nation, "has got the bit between its teeth. Not since the '30s has it consumed so much bad champagne and dubious caviar, trampled so much broken glass underfoot, and driven so many village dressmakers to profitable distraction. Society is scrambling shakily to its feet again...
During the strife-torn 1870s in Paris, a passing proletarian stopped by a sidewalk table at the Café de la Paix to jeer at an elderly champagne-sipper: "You! We didn't get you in '48, but we won't miss in the next revolution." Last week the revolution finally engulfed the Café de la Paix. After 86 years as a bastion of fashion (and fancy prices), the famed restaurant turned over one-eighth of its floor space to an American-style snack bar. Georges Marcovich, the café's Manager of External Relations...
...plows a straight furrow in bare feet, and feels the good black soil of the valley squinch between his toes. It is Faulkner country, but there is a difference between Deal's Tuxahatchie and Faulkner's Yoknapatawpha. In Faulkner's unprincipled principality, it is the proletarian Snopses who slither to power over the aristocratic Sartorises. In Tuxahatchie County the red-soil, rednecked goodness of the hill farms is posed against the black-soil, black-souled wickedness of the valley. Indeed the valley, Fate Laird is forced to decide in the end, is "like a pretty woman loaded...
...proud toy-poodle owner, who also happens to be a hi-fi fan, tried to explain the phenomenon at the Garden last week: "This is one more sign of what you might call sophistication for the masses. The poodle is purely and simply a luxury dog: no suggestion of proletarian practicality; no good for hunting, at least not any more; no good for herding sheep; no good for tracking convicts. The American people are getting more of the good things in life all the time-things that used to belong to the aristocracy: sailboats, golf, good music. Why not poodles...