Word: roars
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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...tell you," Jim Gammil '75 said, pulling up the sleeves of his "Win, Lose or Draw" knit shirt and speaking with a touch of nervousness from his seat in the Royal Roost, insulated against the amplified roar of "Elizabeth Reed," "I didn't think I was going to work for a candidate--I thought I'd work for the Democratic National Committee again this year. But when Jimmy came to Kirkland House last spring, we ended up putting him up for the night. He slept on our fold-down couch. I spent two days with him. And I was sold...
Luck is such an incredible factor in directing shows on Broadway. I don't think that working in summer stock helps you one bit in getting ahead in the theater. I don't think you learn a hell of a lot from painting somebody else's scenery. The roar of the greasepaint and all that is fun, sure--so long as you realize that's what you're getting out of it. I think the regional theaters, which are enormously different from summer stock, are very instructive. If I were starting out now I'd take work wherever I could...
...just the demands, the constant travel, the constituents. It's the inner core of the politician to begin with. The kind of person who picks politics for a career is one who is not comfortable with one-on-one relationships. He prefers, all too often, the roar of the crowd." Among the results of such pressures: Joy Baker, after living most of her life for two Senators−father, Everett Dirksen and husband, Howard Baker−says sadly, "Politics has nullified my personality." Sharon Percy Rockefeller reports that her three-year-old son struck angrily...
...weight, says one musician, "she has to sit down, so you really can't see her." Another takes a more show business view of the situation: "Let's face it, she's box office. Sarah is the Luis Tiant of opera." Sarah, who likes the roar of the crowd as much as any athlete and loves baseball, might just take that as a compliment...
...typical beginning of an orchestra concert. The violinists shrieked at the top of their register without definable pitch, while the cellists slapped their instruments and scraped violently below the bridge with their bows, creating a tumult like the roar of giant wasps. Periodically, the screams would subside into desolate silence, fearfully anticipating the next frantic outburst. It was the Threnody written in 1960 by the Polish composer Penderecki as a memorial to the victims of Hiroshima, and it conjures vividly the sirens, the explosions, and the terrible agonies of the dying during the atomic blast...