Word: raines
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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This review is written as of the second public performance, yesterday's, which went superbly on a radiant afternoon, one of June's rarest days. Last Saturday's was marred by a thin but persistently drizzling rain...
...marred by more than rain. At a slackening, when the performance was due to start, a gentleman in contemporary street clothes, presumably Mr. John Ellerton Lodge, who composed the excellent music of the drama for men's voices to the accompaniment of woodwind instruments, came out from Agamemnon's palace doors carrying a pan of incense to lay on the altar where it might now be lighted with some hope that it would smoke. His foot slipped on the rain-greased altar step and went right through the marble, a canvas flap of which went on fluttering in the breeze...
...seconds the earth shook, crumbling houses and shops into rubble. Some survivors wandered in the streets, wailing in anguish as they searched for relatives and friends. Others huddled dazedly over fires in the open fields. A driving rain and heavy winds made the night miserable, and morning brought two more earth tremors. El Marj had lived through bombing and battles during World War II as British and Axis forces took and retook the town. But the quake flattened El Marj as war never did. Rescue workers said that not a single house remained habitable, and the Libyan Red Crescent appealed...
...point Goldsmith buzzed around the rain-slick, 2.5-mile track at a risky 155 m.p.h. "I broke into a number of slides that made my hair stand up," he later admitted. But his 3,200-lb. Tempest with wide-track wheels was a great deal easier to control than the lighter (by 400 Ibs.) Sting Rays-or even a pair of Italian Ferrari GTOs. Two Sting Rays pulled into the pits flooded with 4 in. of water on their floor boards from leaky vents; the others were sliding all over the track. At race's end, Goldsmith...
This heady information was contained in a letter to Lawrence Durrell, when, at 24 and yet unknown to fame, he was a lonely and industrious apprentice novelist on the island of Corfu. What made him keep opening the letter and reading it again and again in the rain was the fact that it was from that self-acknowledged genius Henry Miller, 21 years older and not yet world-famous but already a coterie colossus dangerously engaged in living his autobiography in Paris. Indeed, the younger man regarded Miller as so great that he was "furious that people haven...