Word: shirt
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...road last week for his first major stump speech since the nomination, and he seemed to be pursuing the something's-wrong theme with some success. Barry Goldwater's forum was a bunting-draped platform at the Illinois State Fair in Springfield, where a shirt-sleeved crowd of 12,000 turned out for "Republican Day." For 32 minutes, Goldwater spoke under a broiling sun. But he was cooled repeatedly by applause and chants of "Yea, Barry...
...golden day early in 1952, wearing shorts, sandals and a blue T-shirt, Ian Fleming sat down before a portable typewriter in a beach house on the Caribbean island of Jamaica. "The scent and smoke and sweat of a Casino are nauseating at three in the morning," he wrote. "James Bond suddenly knew that he was tired...
...land where armed U.N. troops dare not tread. Both Turkish and Greek Cypriots welcome the press because they want to get their views before world opinion. Still, crossing the lines is tricky. "The technique," says one experienced correspondent, "is to wave something white, like a shirt or a sheet, and yell 'press' in the appropriate language. Drive slowly, don't get them startled, honk in the daylight and blink headlights at night." Last week, however, NBC's Al Rosenfeld neglected the technique. Waved past a Greek outpost, he and an assistant headed across...
...rotter school teacher is Mr. Holbrook," wrote the daring student. "He is a tramp. He needs a wash and a haircut and a new shirt and he has a big head and beady eyes." The description delighted English Teacher David Holbrook. Only a few months before, the "bottom-stream" British schoolboy of 14 was barely articulate. Now, flaunting a new-found power with words, he groped toward understanding the mystery that transforms murky thoughts into vivid language...
...nineteenth century. Not the eighteenth century, as the ignorant said: that was the age of the Adamses, of Jefferson and Madison, of Franklin and Hamilton. No, the late nineteenth century: the era when political thought was mired in the Serbonian bog of manifest destiny, untrammelled acquisitiveness and the bloody shirt...