Word: silver
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Dates: during 1950-1959
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SUMMER had broken, and the slim cedars along Quemoy's roadways bent before the first buffeting gusts of autumn. In the fields, the silver, feathery heads of mao-tsao, a grain used for fuel and fodder, swayed like the plumes of medieval knights. At night the moon was almost full, and the pearl and coral-colored bluffs loomed like phantoms above the beaches, pounded by a foamy sea. In other times it was the loveliest of seasons, it was the loveliest of sights. But this year autumn on Quemoy was a nightmare...
Minutes after bumping down on the scrubby landing strip at little (pop. 1,440) Benson ("Used to have to run the cows off here." he said), the Senator, a tall, bronzed, lean-jawed, silver-haired man of 49. was shaking hands with sleepy-eyed shift workers at the Apache Powder Corp. plant. The day wore swiftly on, the miles slipped by. At Merrill's grocery in the Mormon crossroads of St. David (pop. 10), Goldwater paused for breakfast-a bottle of Coke-before hustling on to a campaign appearance in rural Pomerene (pop. 150). Then came...
Where Was the Fireman? Some of the commuters were as lucky as Land. One arm and one foot broken. Trainman Joe McDonald struggled to the door of the first coach and, in a welter of lifeless bodies, floated up to sunlight. Lloyd Nelson, 33. of Little Silver, N.J.. a survivor of the Pennsylvania Railroad wreck at Woodbridge, N.J. in 1951 (84 dead), had got a window open before his coach splashed into the bay. From the dangling car some passengers crawled hand over hand up the luggage racks to take rescuing ropes and hands. But Snuffy Stirnweiss died...
...buzzsaw voice rasped between the tarnished silver of a straggly mustache and the soiled afterthought of a goatee. The smutched, shoulder-length mane wagged damply beneath a fly-blown Stetson. "All of that and all of that." The waving arms and lying words swished briefly before gaudy posters of improbable freaks. Somehow, out of the rain-bedraggled midway of the Gratz (Pa.) Fair, a crowd gathered. It always does when the harsh, vocal magic of Colonel Lew Alter begins to turn the tip (con the rubes) into his new "Can It Be Possible?" show...
...sleek bow awash with silver spray, Columbia slipped across the finish line a mile and a quarter or 8 minutes, 20 seconds ahead of the broad-breasted challenger...