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...years to come up with one small work, and the critic sits down and bangs out his review in one night. If there were no artists, there would be no critics--it's a parasitic profession. I'm reminded of those small satellite fish which travel along with a shark or whale, feeding on the scraps of food left behind. Blustering with self-importance, the critic feeds on the scraps of giants, regurgitating on cue an article for publication...

Author: By Emanuel Goldman, | Title: A Parasitic Profession | 4/16/1974 | See Source »

...Kraft, an Administration "enemy" whose home telephone was once tapped, last week wrote of the "spirit of rivalrous competition and self-important narcissism now so rampant in the fourth estate." Managing Editor Howard Simons of the Washington Post, the most tenacious newspaper on the Watergate trail, spoke recently about "shark frenzy"-the urge among some newsmen "to rush in to get a bite of that bleeding body in the water...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: The Press: A Question of Zeal | 3/18/1974 | See Source »

...arrests (by unorthodox means) of men wanted for prison terms of seven years and more. Mannucci uses most of his guile and gall to manufacture evidence. But his atavistic instincts are intact when he blackjacks a captured Mafioso senseless, or thrusts a gun under the nose of a loan shark caught...

Author: By Michael Sragow, | Title: Speed and Thump | 3/7/1974 | See Source »

...Pullybone, Charley Pride, and Tammy Wynette. You can hear Buck Owens sing "Jack Daniels (Old No. 7)" as you get a 30-cent draft from Oley (Olga) Sopotnick, then put your quarter on the eight ball table and hear "Arms Full of Empty" and "Borrowed Angel" before Cecil, the shark, polishes off another local, and then you can take your run at the green felt while "Honky Tonk Women" and "Fingertips Part Two" and another hardrock tune take their turns on the box. On the chalkboard is a sign: "Make love and war." But this afternoon, a man who looks...

Author: By Timothy Carlson, | Title: In Spudnick's | 2/25/1974 | See Source »

...starched white uniform and a red-checkered apron, and she lives above the restaurant with the manager. He is 45 and divorced, a Methodist believer who neither drinks or smokes. He is balding with a budding paunch, he likes the movies, reads little, and drives a shark blue Dodge Dart. She cleans his place and cooks for him after work when they tire of Purple Pickle fare, and she rarely leaves the building. She seeks out no one from her past...

Author: By Emily Fisher, | Title: Lady Star Dust | 2/20/1974 | See Source »

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