Word: silents
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Dates: during 1980-1989
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After four years of Jimmy Carter's bad timing and timidity in foreign affairs, the world has had to make quite an adjustment. The Soviets, while continuing to denounce Reagan on the surface, have grown oddly silent beneath the waves. By this time in Carter's first year, they had agreed to put troops into Ethiopia and were engineering a coup in Afghanistan...
...intimate details of each death, spread eagerly from cell to cell, are well known to all the prisoners. Each time new volunteers are sought, Maze leaders review the awful effects of starvation. They want no false bravado and no dropouts. The prisoners stand silent against the cell-block doors, ears pressed to cracks in the framing, and listen to block commanders speaking in Gaelic to confound the guards, describe the ulcerated throats, the tooth fillings that drop out, the skin that turns so dry that bones break through, the inevitable blindness before death...
...times, a compressed cultural iconography. It was plain that the sexual revolution had reached the suburbs when in 1968 Ford Motor Co. sold autos with a song urging: "It's the way to swing/ Go and have your fling." McDonald's spoke to the '60s-weary Silent Majority in 1971 with words that had little to do with fast food but that probably summed up why people supported the Viet Nam War: "Let's start buildin' our world/ Let's stop puttin' it down/ Let's start livin' our dream/ Make...
...Miniver (1942), The Best Years of Our Lives (1946) and Ben-Hur (1959); of a heart attack; in Beverly Hills, Calif. Born in French Alsace, Wyler immigrated to New York at age 19 and worked as a publicity agent and a script clerk before directing his first silent film in 1925. Though his work ranged from musicals (Funny Girl, 1968) to westerns (The Big Country, 1958), Wyler was best known for his film adaptations of such novels as Sinclair Lewis' Dodsworth (1936) and Emily Bronte's Wuthering Heights (1939), and Lillian Hellman's play The Little Foxes...
...most pitiful--and insistent--of these bedraggled boozehounds was a diminutive and (we thought) mute gentleman who was called "Bosco" by the regulars. Whenever we went to the Shamrock, Bosco would turn up at least once an evening--stopped, filthy and silent. One day, however, he walked in, turned to the senior member of our group and spoke. "Hey you," he said. "Do me a favor: Kill the Mayor...