Word: ranges
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...Americans rang in the New Year last week, it was an oddly kaleidoscopic moment. Bostonians had slogged through the snowiest December since 1947, and the traffic-snarling snowfalls gave the angular shapes of the town houses on Commonwealth Avenue a specially softened calm. Houston's golf courses were flecked with executives basking in record warm temperatures. Nippy winds scoured clean the usually smoggy Los Angeles basin, offering Southern Californians breathtaking panoramas that they rarely see. The vagaries of the weather matched the novelty of the national mood, as Americans took stock of 1970 and looked to the year ahead...
...laughter, blurred and distorted by champagne though it was, rang with not a little of plain old Harvard elitism and snobbery. And two hours later, when the film ended and the audience sobered up, it had turned into the sniffles and sobs to which Love Story reduces all its victims. For we could laugh at the Paramount corporate mind all we wanted, and yet still had to admit that Paramount had tricked us into seeing its film. And, luxuriating in the successful kitsch of it all, the makers of Love Story were hardly about to say they were sorry...
...telephone rang at the desk of Captain A.W. ("Hap") Chandler Jr., commander of the Miramar Naval Air Station in San Diego. "Hey, Hap, what are you doing about flight jackets down there?" asked the skipper of another Navy facility. "You letting them wear them around the base?" Replied Chandler: "Sure. I've got to, since I do it my self." A former colleague of Zumwalt's in Saigon, Chandler is so enthusiastic about the freer atmosphere under The Big Z that he tries to keep a step ahead. He relaxed the rules on hair and beards before any Z-gram...
...ASSEMBLED a list of about 50 questions, and passed them on to a Hughes aide. About 48 hours later, the phone rang at 11 a.m., and the flat, nasal voice at the other end identified itself as that of Howard Hughes. That started weeks of titillation, intrigue, maneuvering, exhaustion and sheer damn foolishness. We were on a first-name basis after the second call, but his calls never seemed to have an end or a beginning. They were, in essence, monologues, in which he made a case for holding off the story until new financing for TWA could be arranged...
...Frank is exhausted. He went to bed early, and I think he should get a good night's rest, don't you?" "Good heavens, yes, Mrs. McCulloch, and I'm sorry to have been so thoughtless. A pleasant good night. Rest well." Of course the phone rang again precisely 30 minutes later. Instantly, Hughes was apologetic. In the press of all the things he was doing, he had simply forgotten the earlier conversation. Good night again...