Word: thunderingly
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...their colonial faults, were fighting an enemy that for all its anticolonial pretensions, was actually and determinedly Communist. By then the hour was late. "We have here a sort of cork in the bottle" said President Eisenhower, of Indo-China Said Vice President Nixon, amid the sullen thunder of Dienbienphu : "If, to avoid further Communist expansion in Asia, we must take the risk of putting our boys in, I think the executive branch has ... to do it." But though the U.S. was spending about $800 million a year in Indo-China by war's end, it kept...
...importance: Wassily Kandinsky (for daring), Paul Klee (for imagination) and Pablo Picasso (for passion). Picasso, the only one still living, has always been more easily bored than the others, and has always come back bursting with new beauties. If much of his work is mud, the best is thunder and lightning which makes Matisse's rainbow splendor seem a bit thin by comparison...
...village of Amecameca the Indians waited, unconvinced. One evening last week, an exhausted young man staggered into a climbers' base camp with word that an avalanche had overtaken a party of five men and three women under the crater's rim. He had heard the thunder of the slide, then screams in the cloud haze that enveloped the peak. Groping through the darkness and swirling snow, he found a youth and a girl, half buried and moaning with pain. Their companions were lost somewhere in the snow...
Generations of U.S. generals and lesser officers can still hear the thunder of that West Point organ-the thunder and sweetness that greeted them on their first tour of the Point and each Sunday in chapel. Braided veterans come back again and again to hear it and to talk to the thunderer himself. He is Organist and Choirmaster Frederick C. (for Christian) Mayer, one of West Point's major institutions. For 43 years, regardless of what changing taste in church music might dictate, Mayer chose such rousing processionals as Onward, Christian Soldiers and America, the Beautiful so that...
Organist Mayer is a slight, white-married little old man who trots about West Point as if he owned it, lovingly patting each cannon. He can still set the "battle-thunder" stop and play his rousing "military paraphrase" on the West Point Alma Mater, which is a whole musical war, including artillery, heavy bombers and bugles. But Mayer's own losing battle is with the hard facts of Government service. "I sometimes wonder," he reflects on his past, "how an artist came to spend his entire life on a military post...