Word: trunkful
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...tremendous emptiness without baseball. Its absence creates a big void, and nothing, I mean nothing, can replace it." Americans are trying, of course. Former Texas Congressman Bob Casey, an Astros fan, is using his baseball time to burrow into a novel the size of a steamer trunk, Shogun. What are the stats on a samurai? Attorney Jim Murphy, who normally attends about 75% of Houston's home games, has found a peculiar substitute for baseball: opera, an art form that the sport somewhat resembles-at least if Billy Martin or Earl Weaver is involved. "My wife," says Murphy, "thinks...
...longer the invincible titans of air transport, major trunk carriers like Pan American, United, Braniff and TWA are now fighting off brutal competition from hosts of new airlines, some with only a few planes and a quick-thinking team of marketing men. Their business strategy: a sort of fast-food style of jam-'em-in, fly-'em-off air service. The upstarts have been spawned in large part by the airline deregulation drive that began during Gerald Ford's presidency and is likely to be accelerated by the Reagan Administration...
...Florida can offer bargain prices on many flights because it provides almost none of the amenities that are offered by the established trunk carriers. No hot meals are served on domestic runs, and there is no more room per passenger than is absolutely necessary...
...Allegheny Mountains town of White Sulphur Springs, W. Va., gained a reputation as a healing center in 1778, when Amanda Anderson, long a rheumatic invalid, was placed gently into a hollowed-out tree trunk and slowly immersed in the sulfurous waters of a local spring. Suddenly she jumped out of the trunk and shouted, "I'm cured! I'm cured!" Last week, at White Sulphur Springs' stately Greenbrier resort hotel, the State Department quizzed and counseled 31 of the 53 Americans who had been held hostage in Iran. After three days of therapy and relaxation, however, none...
Newlove, 52, filled a trunk with gorgeously marinated words, though he could not distill a publishable book, that passport to the literary world he saw only through the bottom of a glass. Instead, he sealed himself in the myth of the struggling, hard-drinking writer. He became a middle-aged character in Manhattan's East Village. His beard grew wild, as did his waistline. He dressed entirely in purple and must have resembled a hairy grape...