Word: sackings
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Dates: during 1990-1999
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...headline in a February edition of The Crimson read, "Holocaust Museum Cancels Sack Speech." The story below it, published in February, said the Museum had invited, then disinvited, a journalist named Sack who'd intended to speak of Jews who ran concentration camps at the end of World War II and beat, tortured and killed the German inmates: German men, women, children, babies...
...story, picked up off the Associated Press wire, didn't mention that Sack graduated Harvard, Class of 1951 or that he was a former Crimson editor. And it didn't mention that he would try to rekindle his fiery youth just one month later by sending the Crimson his first contribution in almost fifty years...
Hello, future fellow alumni! I am Sack, the heretic author of An Eye for an Eye. Call it chutzpah, but in it I wrote that in 1945 hundreds of Jews wore olive-colored uniforms and ran a Polish bureaucracy called the Office of State Security. I wrote that they and the Catholics who worked for them rounded up German civilians, took them to 1,255 camps, beat them with "beaters-to-death," put splinters up their fingernails, put living toads in their throats, and put gasoline in their hair, then lit it. I wrote that...
...defendants, the Justice Department has for months been providing the attorneys in various cases with the interviews it has conducted. Last week accusations based on these interviews were leaked to the press. Lab personnel were quoted as saying that McVeigh's black jeans were stuffed in a brown paper sack instead of a sealed, plastic evidence bag and that a shipment of bomb-truck fragments arrived in a "mess." But these raw interviews may not become part of the report, because some of the complaints have been refuted...
...physical type, and in superficialities of temperament, Hiss and Chambers could not have been more different. Hiss on first inspection looked like the Fred Astaire of the mandarin left, lithe and well bred, the Establishment's own darling prothonotary warbler. Chambers, sad-sack Dostoyevskian pudge, more Slavic than American in mind, with terrible teeth and an air of doom, seemed to inhabit a flinching shadow world. He dodged through the '30s packing a revolver and hugging the walls of dark corridors. A paranoid smudge, the mandarins thought, whose amorphous bulk concealed a damaged child given to imagining grandiose conspiracies...