Word: roaringly
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...control, hurling giant orange flames against a nighttime Pacific sky. As scores of fire fighters scramble to uncoil hose lines and position aerial platforms, a slight figure tightly wrapped in a flame-resistant fire fighter's coat steps carefully through the debris in open-toed shoes. Above the roar of high-pressure pumps, she quizzes battalion commanders and cranes her neck to assess the fire fighters' progress. Finally satisfied that the damage will be contained, Mayor Dianne Feinstein heads back...
...rush of emotional crosscurrents: nostalgia for the pride and purpose they felt as young soldiers mixed with something akin to guilt for having survived when death randomly took so many friends. At Omaha Beach, where the water's edge turned red from American blood, returning veterans remember the deafening roar of battle, the smoke and confusion. All they can hear now is the lap of a low surf, the keening of seagulls and occasionally the shouts of children playing on the beach. The puzzle is how to connect the remembered knot of constant fear, the moments of horror and exhilaration...
...fragrance of the food, they say, wafts all the way out to the Gulf of Mexico. The roar of the bands washes up the Mississippi to St. Louis, maybe. The soul, spirit and stomach of the World's Fair that started its six-month run in New Orleans a week ago is the city itself: brooding and flamboyant, raucous and urbane, devout and dissolute. The fair stirs together the razzmatazz of Mardi Gras, the harmony of New Orleans' elegant old buildings and the French-Spanish-African-Italian-Irish-German-Creole-Cajun gumbo gusto of its everyday, every-night...
...sense of cautionary exhortation by the author. Any such message-that tribalistic savagery is mankind's eternal, bone-bred evil, perhaps-would be excessive. Appelfeld simply and affectingly bears witness, and in the end, his sole, muted voice is more effective than a choir and louder than a roar...
First movement: Allegro. New York City, Feb. 27, 1984. Sergiu Celibidache makes his way across the stage of Carnegie Hall to a welcoming roar from the audience. He is the very image of a maestro out of Central European casting: formal evening clothes and a cascade of long white hair. After more than 30 years spent in the shadows of a reputation as the least heard of the great European conductors, he is finally making his American debut, not with a major orchestra, but with a student ensemble from the Curtis Institute of Music in Philadelphia...