Word: staggers
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Dates: during 1950-1959
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...Joseph's Mercy Hospital at Pontiac, Mich., a receptionist glanced up one night last week to see "a zombie" stagger hunched and stiff-legged through the main door. The man wore shoes, socks, and a checked cotton bathrobe; his body was charred, his eyes swollen, his mouth puffy. "Can you get me to the emergency room?" he groaned. As doctors gave him blood and plasma but no hope, the man insisted he was "John Doe from Washington," would say no more...
...begotten atrocities of El Biar. But nothing can justify the use of torture by any nation passing as civilized. Henri Alleg's ordeal is a parable that mirrors the failure of France's Algerian policy. Just as Whitman found a blade of grass sufficient to stagger an army of atheists, so one man's will to be fully and freely a man has, through the ages, risen to rout the massed legions of tyranny...
...awaits graduation, Mr. Eyre paddles about the Square with a curious stagger, poking in and out of book shops and record stores, where he is known for his excellent taste and frequent purchases ("I wave a flag for Wagner and Richard Strauss."). During working hours, he has handy a large green bottle of ginger ale, which Frankie, a Boston cab driver who is often at his side, manages somehow to keep cold. Mr. Eyre seldom retires until past dawn and normally is not seen about until well past time for luncheon...
...longtime jazz buff, Rexroth got together with Saxophonist Bruce Lippincott and worked out a sketchy jazz accompaniment for his new poem, Thou Shalt Not Kill, a lengthy dirge for long-lost friends, mostly poets: "What happened to Robinson who used to stagger down Eighth Street, dizzy with solitary gin? ... Where is Leonard who thought he was a locomotive? . . . What became of Jim Oppenheim? . . . Where is Sol Funaroff? What happened to Potamkin? . . . One sat up all night talking to H. L. Mencken and drowned himself in the morning." Then the Rexroth verse turns to a super Bohemian and aman...
Modigliani's sad and tender Elvira, perhaps depressed at the sight of the dying man painting her, was done in his characteristic arabesque style. By the time he painted this picture, "Modi" no longer had the strength to stagger around Paris with Utrillo. each toasting the other as "the greatest painter in the world" and "the greatest drinker." A few months after he finished the picture the painters, sculptors, poets and models of Montmartre and Montparnasse gathered for his funeral, and an enormous cortege solemnly followed the hearse to the cemetery. All along the road the same policemen...