Word: sparingly
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Dates: during 1950-1959
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...Time," wrote contemplative Henry David Thoreau (1817-62), "is but the stream I go a-fishing in." Recluse Thoreau (Walden, 1854), who lived for 26 months in a spare, do-it-yourself hut (cost: $28.12) in the serene wilderness of Massachusetts' Walden Pond, might have locked his creaky door had he caught a glimpse of the U.S. last week. It was a remarkable sight. In the heat of this midsummer, the nation looked upon time not as a quiet stream but as a bubbling spring from which it might satisfy an endless thirst for motion...
Script Change. By this time, Hitler was parachuting spies into Britain, and the script changes from Waugh to something by Olsen and Johnson. One spy. half-Japanese, was captured with binoculars and a spare pair of shoes hung around his neck. Another dropped in Ireland wearing a beret and high boots, lost his invisible ink swimming the River Boyne. As part of his design to scare the British, Hitler ordered "pack assembles'' dropped at random over the countryside. They included radios, maps and instructions to imaginary secret agents. Unmanned parachutes were dropped to spread the notion that...
...Louis ended on a sour note by blasting out The Star-Spangled Banner and stomping off stage when he found he could play only 13 numbers. Eartha Kitt undulated her way through a 15-minute dance history of jazz, to the music of Dizzy Gillespie's band. In spare moments the jazz pedants gathered in panels and discussed serious things, e.g., "Working Conditions of Jazz Musicians, Present and Possible...
Looking for Loopholes. In 1948, while he was picking up some spare cash on the off-season banquet circuit, Birdie, then 36, met a brown-haired ex-WAVE namec Mary Hartnett. Mary was not only exceptionally pretty, but had the added attraction of apparent immunity to the Tebbetts charm. It was nearly a year before Birdie could get a date. But when he did, he wooed Mary with the same ardor that helps him win ball games. They were married in the fall...
More Than Money. Author Bentley writes in a spare, harsh style. But at her best she is as clear-spoken as Trollope, as sharp-eyed as Balzac, when it comes to the main theme of most lives: love and money-both, of course, in their proper place. She has the disarming habit of reviewing her own stories by telling the reader what he ought to think about them. Of A Case of Conscience she says: "The inhabitants of Annotsfield . . . are often supposed by those outside the town to be complete materialists, narrow-minded, uncultured, coarse, interested only in cloth...