Word: spouted
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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Wakefield deftly shuttles back and forth between the two nations, from the cops to the hippies, from Kiwanians to the ghettos, from an energetic retirement village to a listless Indian reservation. The organization men, rich or poor, high or low, spout a lifeless, insensitive jargon. The unorganized are often speechless. Wakefield could hardly coax any words out of a young Indian man at a Phoenix school. But a white teacher was full of answers, such as "There are ten sociological variables which influence why Indian students become dropouts." Yet, Wakefield found grounds for hope. An Indian militant was distributing cards...
...imaginary European country, not Africa or Asia, where the action is. Furthermore, A. is totally unversed in Mao, Ho Chi Minh or Che Guevara, who are far more relevant in the current revolutionary situations than the drawing-room Marx that A. and his friends are apt to spout...
...five-ton mammal by spending all-night vigils floating on a log in Namu's pen while squeaking to him in "whale talk" and scratching his back. Shortly after the film was completed, Namu became entangled in a fouling net, and, unable to surface and breath through his spout, he drowned. Tors mournfully postponed release of the film, called Namu "the most intelligent creature I ever...
...section "Voices of Revolution" is especially interesting because it brings the reader into the atmosphere of a political rally. Leaders from Venezuela, Mozambique, and Peru pound out the inexorable logic of their position, call for unity of classes, and preach nationalism. The spout neo-Marxian polemics--"We have nothing to lose but the chains that destroy our dignity;" and the revolutionary vocabulary of diatribe--"imperialism," "industrial reserve army," and "pauperization...
...eyes, shrugs, affects a stiff little walk and a careful continental accent that slips unexpectedly into stage British-but the mannerisms never add up to the man Poirot. Anita Ekberg as a bosomy psychopath and Robert Morley as a bungling secret service man offer no noticeable help as they spout reams of witless dialogue set to tuba music. By the time the corpse count reaches the letter D, moviegoers hooked on murder-for-fun will find themselves wishing that the blobby Miss Marple had stayed on the case a bit longer...