Word: wail
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...night was tense around the University, though, as students, cruising police cars, and over 20 photographers and reporters kept an alert eye for possible trouble. Every wail from a police siren brought reporters running, but nothing particularly out of the ordinary occurred. Firecrackers exploded sporadically and pointlessly...
...sounds that reverberated through Moscow's Teatr Estrady last week seemed strangely out of place in the drab, disciplined Soviet capital: the salivating slur of a trombone, the mellow wail of a muted trumpet, the throaty murmur of a saxophone and the staccato thunder of drums. U.S. tourists even thought they could identify the nearly indistinguishable melody: Lullaby of Birdland. They were right. At picnics and Komsomol dances, in cabarets and conservatories, the Soviet Union is swinging to the sound of jazz...
...wail of a child broke up a television taping session in the White House broadcasting room. Jumping to his feet, the President of the U.S. raced through the door, shouting, "Who's crying in this house?" A moment later, he returned, carrying his snuffling, snowsuited daughter. He handed her the first object that came to hand, a plastic Red Cross that he was using in the taping. "Here, Caroline," he soothed, "want a nice red cross? You've got that cap pistol in one hand, you might want this for the other." Caroline Kennedy's tears quickly...
...dinner guests at the Commonwealth Club, Ike strode wide and deep into the campaign with an all-but-personal telecast attack on Jack Kennedy's charges against the Republican record. "When in the face of a bright record of progress and development, we hear some misguided people wail that the United States is stumbling into the status of a second-class power and that our prestige has slumped to an alltime low, we are simply listening to a debasement of the truth...
...Irma moves remarkably fast, with the advisable speed of things outside the law and people on the lam-or it kicks its heels with Parisian verve and pertness. Marguerite Monnot's score has a gay street-music tinniness that can have resonance too, as in the rousing wail of From a Prison Cell or the ring and bounce of There Is Only One Paris for That. But it is England's dark, dynamic Elizabeth Seal in the title role-indeed, as the only woman in the show-who stands foremost. Without her fresh, bright gifts for dancing...