Word: shedding
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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Once a simple rural retreat where Lee Petty used to work on his cars in a converted reaper shed, the Petty spread in Level Cross is now a sprawling complex of machine and body shops, engine-building rooms, parts departments, warehouses and offices. Brother Maurice, who lives across the road from Daddy and Richard, is the chief mechanic of Petty Enterprises Inc.; First Cousin Dale Inman is the crew chief. The cars that the 35 Petty workers turn out are anything but stock. Everything from frames and brakes to transmissions and exhaust systems is handtooled. A team of four mechanics...
...being totally rebuilt for this week's Rebel 500 at Darlington, S.C. As the mechanics worked, some of the 3,000 car buffs who tour Petty Enterprises each year looked on. Like pilgrims at a shrine, they inspected the last remnants of Papa Petty's old reaper shed and then repaired to a souvenir stand where they stocked up on Petty postcards, Petty T shirts, Petty racing jackets and Petty plaques. King Richard himself, wearing wraparound sunglasses and stroking his new Fu Manchu mustache, put in an appearance. Why, someone asked, had he bothered to compete...
...Times had quashed its story in advance of the Bay of Pigs invasion. Publication in that case might have avoided an epic U.S. fiasco. In the missile situation, therefore, the Times made a counter-request. As Frankel tells it: "Will the President give his word that he will shed no blood and start no war during the period of our silence? The Commander-in-Chief perceives no affront in this arrogant demand from the sidelines. He gives his word, and we delay our report for a day. No such bargain was ever struck again ... The essential ingredient was trust...
...After the singing and eating, the YEWESSERS are remorseful and repair to salons, where they shed unsightly pounds and inches with the aid of wonder-working machines...
...nostalgic value of the counterculture, High on Gold tries to resuscitate a dead dream. But it makes a grievous mistake, breathing the deceased's own air into the corpse. The result is a fast-moving, mildly absorbing but less than illuminating afternoon of light reading. No new light is shed on the matter, and the narrative shares the traits of its subject to a fault. Absence of mind may be appealing enough in the intoxicated flesh. But mindless prose about mindless protagonists, mindlessly cavorting in and out of bed from Cambridge to California, on this, that and and the other...