Word: tans
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Staunchly upholding family tradition, Beck Junior refused to acknowledge that he knew his own father (Beck Senior would not admit to Junior). When New York Senator Irving Ives snapped: "For whom were you named?" Junior smirked, crimsoned under his tan, and refused to say.* While his icy-eyed, vigorous father showed every sign of interest in his own undoing before the labor investigating committee. Beck Junior exhibited nothing but slouching boredom as he heard charges that he had been handed some $69,000 as a Teamster organizer, never did a lick of work for his pay, profited...
Short, plump and natty in a tan gabardine suit, Nuri asSaid, 13 times Prime Minister of Iraq, stepped down jauntily from his Vickers Viscount. His lips slightly parted, his hooded eyes darting back and forth as if not to miss a detail, he looked almost as if he were tasting the happy occasion...
...handlers laid out fresh clothes as Fats mopped his face and clambered out of his tan silk suit (he owns 51 such rigs). The band got a quick dressing-down: "You guys ain't playin' wuth a cotton picker's wages-a real crummy beat." Then, turning to reporters, Fats philosophized about his wearying one-night stands: "Gold all the way, but man, they get old." Fats's gold standards are high: he estimates that he will make $600,000 to $700,000 this year, spend $60,000 on a house in New Orleans...
...students decided to end the concert with a tribute to their teacher in the form of Professor Piston's own Sonata for Flute and Piano, performed by flutist William Grass and pianist Tan Crone. Piston is one of those rare men who can teach as well through example as through words. This sonata, a relatively early work (1930), showed Piston to be already an impeccable craftsmen. All three movements were skilfully wrought in traditional shapes of almost Mozartean clarity, albeit on a mainly contrapuntal basis. The performance, however, was no more than adequate; Mr. Grass was definitely not "The Incredible...
...efforts to break up my country. We realize now that the propaganda campaign and the internal crisis were the responsibility of international Communism and its followers." The King paused. In his paper-white face the dark eyes seemed unnaturally large. His slight frame, draped in a rakish tan gabardine suit, was slumped under the heaviness of fatigue; he had scarcely slept in four days. Yet he talked confidently, in the manner of a man who had learned some bitter lessons of human perfidy and folly, but had found that he could make his way. That same day he had gained...