Word: sadnesses
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Dates: during 1980-1989
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...Prince of Wales came to tea. Lawrence of Arabia gave Florence a ride in his sidecar. Hardy's steadily growing prestige and popularity would have seduced most pessimists to optimism. Not Hardy. He simply turned increasingly from tragic fiction to tragic poetry: "After love what comes?/ A few sad vacant hours,/ And then, the Curtain...
...Heavyweight Championship of the World. It is as big as Primo Camera was big, as simple and, sometimes, as sad. But invariably special and occasionally alluring. Jack Johnson. Jack Dempsey. Joe Louis. Rocky Marciano. Muhammad Ali. Since caves, men have been awed by the enormous stature accompanying this title and attracted to its myth. Which is why in Las Vegas this week a $50,000 casino credit line is helpful in securing a reservation at Caesars Palace. The beautiful people are descending with their beautiful money, and so are the fight mob, the press corps and the crapshooters, all drawn...
...Sad songs of his father fill Cooney's conversations with strangers. His dearest recollections and direst regrets are open to everyone. In a conflict of stubborn wills, Gerry moved away from home at 18. "When I heard how he had gone around calling me 'my son, the fighter,' and how proud it turns out he really was of me, that really hurt, you know?" When he fell ill with cancer, Tony bought himself a motorcycle and made lonely journeys to Montauk, at the far end of Long Island, to look out at the sea. "What did he think...
...sad one, as Joe Bugner, the sparring partner, knows. Bugner is a congenial Hungarian giant, less innocent than Cooney. Twice Bugner went the distance with just about the best of Ali ("I'm so proud of that"), including 15 rounds for the championship in 1975. When Ali was brought to Cooney's Palm Springs camp several weeks ago to stir publicity, Cooney was taken aback by the husky raspiness of Ali's voice, the depressingly common effect of too many punches. "It scared me a little," Cooney confesses. Bugner sees it differently. "It's that Muhammad's down...
...have been no. They did not flame out young, like Keats and Shelley. But few of them enjoyed their later years, and they are all gone now: Berryman, Robert Lowell, Randall Jarrell, Dylan Thomas, Theodore Roethke and Delmore Schwartz. They left behind some splendid poems and some terribly sad histories of alcoholism, mental illness, despair and suicide...