Word: refraining
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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Kizzy bears a mulatto son whom she calls George. But she also whispers into the infant's ear the African name of his grandfather, Kunta Kinte. The passing on of the name becomes a refrain throughout the book. It binds George, who becomes trainer of Massa's fighting cocks, to his own past. In turn, he passes on "Kunta Kinte" to his son Tom, who is emancipated after the Civil War. Tom is a master blacksmith who, as a freed slave, moves his family to Henning, Tenn. The whites welcome his skills but will not allow a black...
...Whitehead's powerful script gives Roberts and Finney both the concentration of focus (no kids or neighbors barging in to tear them from each other's throats) and the depth of antagonism needed for tour de force performances. And Page has the good sense to refrain from superfluous footage and to let their acting say it all. (One shudders to imagine the possibilities: newsreel shots of the maturing Beatles with each jump in time, perhaps, or a montage of their interspliced faces for some misspent Bergmanesque ambiguity...
Franklin Roosevelt made his name a catch-phrase joke, but Hamilton Fish is still battling for the last laugh. A flinty New York conservative and 13-term member of the House (1920-45), Fish helped inspire the celebrated 1940 Roosevelt refrain citing Congressmen "Martin, Barton and Fish" as three banes of New Deal legislation. Now a sprightly 87, Fish recently surfaced with a new book lambasting Roosevelt (F.D.R.: The Other Side of the Coin), and he shows no signs of slowing down. Last week the hardy widower announced plans to marry Alice Curtis Desmond, 79, a friend of 40 years...
...just can't close my eyes, my head's too full of worries, about the kids, a place to stay, a job, what the city will have turned into," the father told me. They both wanted to talk about what was happening, but they couldn't get beyond the refrain, "I can't believe it; I never thought it was possible." I think they were the only ones who didn't mind when the train stalled, because they were so used to waiting, and so eager to peer out at anything Greek...
...Friday night at any of ten thousand watering holes of the small towns and crossroads hamlets of the South. The room is a cacophony of the ping-pong-dingdingding of the pinball machine, the pop-fizz of another round of Pabst, the refrain of Red Necks, White Socks and Blue Ribbon Beer on the juke box, the insolent roar of a souped-up engine outside and, above it all, the sound of easy laughter. The good ole boys have gathered for their fraternal ritual-the aimless diversion that they have elevated into a lifestyle...