Word: wind
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Dates: during 1950-1959
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...their beads. The men stood by in silence, their weathered faces turned to the driving rain, as the black-and-red-hulled French trawler, Jules Verne, steamed slowly into harbor, its flag at half-mast. Only the tolling of bells, the slopping sound of water against pilings, the bitter wind singing in the telegraph wires broke the silence as the first bodies were brought ashore. They were wrapped, not in half a red sail, but in blue blankets and blue plastic shrouds, and Monsignor George Quinn whispered the prayers for the dead over each of them. Mourned a woman...
...morning last week 30,000 Japanese, carrying wreaths, incense sticks and bits of white paper folded into the shape of flying cranes, poured into Nakajima Park in Hiroshima on the northern shore of the Inland Sea. The waning moon still hung in the brightening blue sky. There was no wind, and the promise of a hot day. Said one Japanese, looking skyward: "It was a morning just like this when the bomb fell...
This summer more tourists than ever before are jamming the narrow, sloping streets of sun-bleached, wind-bathed Provincetown, Mass. (pop. 3,600) on the tip of Cape Cod's hook. They shuffle barefooted and clop-clop in Japanese sandals; they peer at bronzed fishermen and pack swank souvenir shops; they fill the galleries, buy works of art. A town that has attracted art devotees for more than half a century, Provincetown has in 1958 become the U.S.'s undisputed summer art capital. The reasons: a new arts festival and a new art museum-both resulting from...
...successful work is Transformation, by Composer Schuller, who is both the first horn player of the Metropolitan Opera and a sometime player in jazz combos. His tautly constructed piece opens with a wistful theme, gradually begins to swing, gives way to free improvisation and a swelling riff in the wind instruments. All the pieces have their fascinating moments, but they seem less intent on saying anything than on pacing the distance between Birdland and Carnegie Hall...
...over the lee rail. Tailing onto the heavy rope of the main brace was a runty, down-cheeked lad of 16 named Jimmy Bisset. His feet swept from under him by the surge of boiling green water, he was washed overboard. His shouts were drowned in the roar of wind and sea. But he held onto the rope's end. And the next sea washed him back aboard. As Jimmy clutched the fife rail and spat out the brine, the first mate roared: "The next time you do a thing like that, I'll log you for attempting...