Word: vagabonding
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Ever since Joan, Siobhan has starred as an international vagabond. "I go from country to country, and half the time I don't know where I am.'' But movies, stage or television, she always knows what she wants to be. "In England,'' she says, "first they wanted to change my name. I said: 'No, thank you; I don't know who was responsible for it, but obviously they went to a lot of trouble to think it up.' " In Hollywood, she had similar trouble. "They said...
...Vagabond Liver. On the auld sod of Dublin, Behan makes even less attempt at apology. "I'm addicted to drink," he announces calmly. "In the part of Dublin I come from it's no disgrace to get drunk. It's an achievement." Followed by a horde of slum urchins begging sixpence ("Their standard of living has gone up with mine; they used to be content with pennies"), his florid, stocky figure heads out for the boozer before n a.m. He "gargles" whisky and porter the rest of the day, while heaving beguiling blarney to friends and freeloaders...
...attachment to the spigot, Brendan turns it off during his writing bouts. Not that it is easy to stick to work, now that the vagabond liver has money and fame. Brendan has started a novel about Dublin, but, he says, "I can't get on with it with all this blanking success." Meanwhile, since his Borstal Boy was banned as "obscene" by the Irish government, he strides about bellowing (to the tune of MacNamara's Band...
Success was a long time in coming. The Guild rejected Welcome to Our City, and Wolfe remained steadfast in his refusal to trim it to a practical length. For six years he lived as a vagabond, teaching sporadically at N.Y.U., and roaming over the face of inter-war Europe. At times he was exultant, but often hopeless and despondent. From Brussels he wrote: "At 23, hundreds of people thought I'd do something. Now, no one does--not even myself. I really don't care very much...." Finally in 1929 Look Homeward Angel was published, and Thomas Wolfe came into...
...looked at the Vagabond's ashen face. There were tears in his eyes. He cleared his throat, blew his nose, and went on. "After that they came thick and fast. Sometimes the phone rang before I had relinquished my grip on the newly-cradled receiver. Marrowitz, Marrowitz, Marrowitz, roared in a tumultuous crescendo inside my skull. Finally I fled into the unknown morning, vaguely seeking surceace in Sever Hall with Uzbek Studies 229. It was ghastly--so ghastly I cannot talk about it. The obscene rites that there transpired, as registered on my fear-crazed brain by my blear-hazed...