Word: wagoner
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Dates: during 1990-1999
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...hectic and overwrought. But the family is believable, and Olivia Burnette is totally winning as Dorothy Jane. With a voice that cracks charmingly at the high end, she can take a routine wisecrack ("They're just an unsuspecting, innocent family. Please don't turn into the Welcome Wagon from hell") and make it a cry of adolescent anguish. A TV kid whose jokes are rooted in real feelings and family tribulation. What a concept...
...frontier scouts and settlers, cavalrymen and trappers, and the American Indians -- noble at first, then seen as degenerate enemies of progress as the century went on and their resistance grew, and finally (by the 1890s) turning into doomed phantoms. Its landscapes are prodigious. Its stage material includes the Conestoga wagon, the simple cabin, the tepee, the isolated fort, the deep perspective V of the railroad -- and at the end, symbol of absolute victory over nature, the California sequoia with a road cut through its trunk...
Conservative polemicist Dinesh D'Souza is living every nonfiction author's fantasy: to publish at precisely the politically correct moment. Like the cavalry in an old-time western racing over the hill to save the wagon train from the murderous Indians -- oops!, misunderstood Native Americans -- Illiberal Education: The Politics of Race and Sex on Campus arrives just as public outrage is building to a peak. Liberals and conservatives alike have suddenly joined forces to ridicule the excesses of left-wing policies and posturing in academia. It is almost as if, having exorcised the legacy of Vietnam in foreign policy, Americans...
Crimson Newscar Two, a red 1987 Subaru station wagon that rode like a dream, was lost in the line of duty in an accident on I-95 South in Fairfield, Conn. In the accident, two Crimson reporters narrowly escaped death when a roll of insulation fell from the back of a red Chevrolet pick-up truck driven by Brian J. Mola of Norwalk, Conn...
...your shoulder. When I do that, the hair rises on the back of my neck. I feel my Danish grandfather, old Falle Hansen Skow, picking up the chest one morning in 1872, when he was 16, easing it onto the back of a farm wagon, then riding with his father to the train station. The night before, he had carved his initials on a windowsill of his parents' farmhouse in Jutland, "so you won't forget me." A few years earlier, Germany had inhaled his part of Denmark, and thus as a teenager he was in danger of being drafted...