Word: townes
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...Angeles Times, where I was editorial and opinion editor in 2004 and '05. Long the industry's leading example of needless excellence, the Times has had bureaus around the world, a huge Washington staff and so on. Yet it had a near monopoly in its own town and made little attempt to compete elsewhere. So what was the point...
...least, said Tarak Ben Ammar, Murdoch's go-to guy in Italy: "The water in Greece is really clean ... and the company was very good." Meanwhile a bit farther north, Italian Prime Minister Romano Prodi had just wrapped up a notably more austere Mediterranean holiday in the Tuscan coastal town of Castiglione della Pescaia. Prodi could bask in several recent Italian successes on his beach break: a key role in the Lebanon cease-fire, and a merger of Sanpaolo IMI and Banca Intesa to give Italy its first major European banking player. But by the second week of September...
Many of the rediscovered brands are from their original small-town manufacturers. Mallo Cups, for example, are still made by Boyer Candy in Altoona, Pa., and Chick-o-Sticks are in their 52nd year of production by Atkinson Candy in Lufkin, Texas. Some brands, like Fizzies, have changed their recipes, while other candies, like Jujubes and Sugar Daddys, contain the same ingredients that first enthralled the taste buds of the youngsters who grew up watching Howdy Doody and The Lone Ranger...
...reminisce about those days, the concept of a "simpler" life often informs their musings. Will Lewis, 58, the owner of a printing business in Leawood, Kans., recalls growing up in Bible Grove, Ill., with a population of fewer than 100, and the thrill of going to the nearby big town every Saturday, where he joined the line of kids waiting to ride the bucking bronco in front of the five-and-dime. Recently Lewis bought his very own pony, Nellie, from Kiddie Rides USA, a Denver outfit that purchases old rides, refurbishes them and sells them on its website. Lewis...
Phantom pain was a daily topic at OT--occupational therapy, the whittling porch for amputees. I made my first friends there. Most of my neighbors were half my age and from different backgrounds, small-town boys who had passed up college or blue-collar trades for a military life. I was urban, overeducated, untattooed and distrustful of uniforms and blind patriotism. But I soon discovered that I shared something with those soldiers larger than the differences in our biographies. We were men struggling for identity. The psychological scars of amputation ran deeper than those from conventional wounds...