Word: rosee
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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Greatest Since Creation. It is only an accident of history that Richard Nixon occupied the White House when the U.S. first landed men on the moon, but the coincidence seems apt. No less than Neil Armstrong, he is the smalltown boy who rose to fame, the upright citizen, the doer somehow left a bit unsophisticated despite his success and prominence. Nixon could scarcely contain his exuberance as he waited on the flag bridge of the carrier Hornet for the Pacific splashdown. Waving his arms, he exclaimed: "Oh, boy! Oh, boy!" As the Apollo command module bobbed in the sea, Nixon...
ABOARD the U.S.S. Hornet, 950 miles southwest of Hawaii, hundreds of crewmen, reporters, cameramen and VIP guests anxiously scanned the pre-dawn skies. At 5:41 a.m., shouts of "There it is! There it is!" rose from the aircraft carrier's huge flight deck. For a split second, a tiny orange speck, no brighter than a faint shooting star, shone against the thick, purplish clouds. Apollo 11 had come home; now it was streaking through the earth's familiar atmosphere after completing the most momentous journey in man's history. Two of the three human beings aboard...
...spun out of control as he whipped around a rain-slick corner at 150 m.p.h., and ripped through a telegraph pole and a tree before it screamed to a halt. For 35 minutes Stewart was trapped in the cockpit as the gasoline from his full tanks rose to his armpits. Miraculously, the car did not explode, and a team of workmen managed...
...Cameron, 86, matriarch of San Francisco high society, wealthy daughter of Michel H. de Young, co-founder of the San Francisco Chronicle, who for half a century was a notable patron of the arts, and a director of both the symphony and opera associations; of a heart attack; at Rose-court, her pink-stucco château in suburban Hillsborough...
...MOON, which has sulked behind a heavy corner of clouds quite a bit lately, finally rose the other night. As late summer moons often do, it hung heavy and red just above the horizon. But, since the days of the good, impressionistic sentence are over, it is difficult to assign any particular emotion to the event. For, in a very real sense, the particular sphere in question has become just another suburb, and like Wellesley or Westchester or Chevy Chase, it is there, separated from us only by the difficulties of transportation...