Word: shirt
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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This old man comes out on 'the stage in blue-blue suit, blue shirt, blue tie, blue handkerchief. But nothing else is blue. Everyone knows his true colors come in 14-corned gold, a spray of white lies and a streak of pale green envy. Abuse turns him purple, but he never bursts into flame. When he asks politely for his violin, for example, it is tossed in a high parabola from the wings and smashes at his feet. He turns to the audience and draws every living soul to his side with the glazed-over helpless look that...
...crisis, has been slipped under our doors again. A wrap of dialogue on the cover, advertising an article by W. H. Ferry, reads: "Q. What's new? A. Everything." First of all there is that picture on the cover of a very Joan Baezish looking girl (unkempt man's shirt and stringy hair and all) gazing pensively into the darkness. She evidently belongs to a photo essay, "Letter from a Fortified City," by Kenneth Andau...
Agent's Despair. Buddy Bohn has such a healthy, wash-and-wear body that he looks amazingly fresh after all his travels. He always puts on a clean shirt before singing for his sukiyaki. His baritone is fragile and breaks frequently. But he makes up for it with enthusiasm and philosophy: "The very artlessness of folk songs," he points out, "amounts to eternal and universal art in capturing the hearts of peoples...
...after four years of sweating Harvard sweat, it will still mean the same thing. Of course, when I pin my diploma on my shirt, the white world won't act like it doesn't respect me. I'll still be "the nigger" but, when I show my trophy, the world will bend to necessity. It's so funny. There'll be no real necessity--just habit. I might even, some day, become Ralph Bunche or, in forty years, Bobby Kennedy. But then, I'll still be nigger to the man on the train. Yes, it's funny, pathetically funny...
...after midnight. Disturbed by strange sounds in his comfortable house in the capital city of Lomé, Olympio grabbed a pistol and went to the head of the stairs. There, to his consternation, was a crowd of mutinous soldiers crowding the floor below. Barefoot, clad in shorts and sport shirt, Olympio leaped through a window onto the soft, sandy earth of his garden...