Word: woodenness
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Dates: during 1950-1959
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...were home football weekends, and the Masters on occasion would graciously keep the House gates open to students and their dates until 11 or 12 p.m. on the night of a Yale or Princeton game in Cambridge. But in recent years this happy philosophy has gone the way of wooden goalposts. The Masters reversed their field in 1953 and decreed that late room permission would apply on all weekends except those of home football games. Consequently the play-away is now the thing. Undergraduates in Cambridge will celebrate this evening because, for the second of only three Saturdays this fall...
Premier Diem, a Roman Catholic, is a small, chunky, dark-haired man of 54 who works at a desk in Saigon surrounded by crises and a few personal things-a wooden crucifix, a picture of the Virgin, books titled Social Justice and Thoughts of Gandhi. At a youth rally on a Saigon football field last week, Diem was greeted enthusiastically by white-shirted young Vietnamese. Said he: "I promise you that by the end of the year we will have a democratic regime and a national assembly." By way of ensuring this desirable result, the ballot card photographs had been...
...Wooden Dish (by Edmund Morris) tackles an always real situation without much sense of reality. It concerns an old man who has long lived, unwanted, with his son and daughter-in-law and who now, half blind, breaks dishes and sets things on fire. The daughter-in-law threatens to leave the house if Pop is not sent to a "home." Here the play starts to bounce away from its theme: the daughter-in-law begs the boarder to run off with her; the teen-age granddaughter theatrically intervenes. In time, the old man sets forth gallantly for the rest...
Columbia's Baker Field has wooden goalposts...
Next, while the voters pressed close to the porch rail to watch, the official ceremoniously counted the blank ballots. Then he picked up the varnished wooden ballot box, held it aloft like a magician doing a trick. "Is it empty?" he asked. "Empty, empty," came the chorused reply. "There is no cheating?" "No cheating," chanted the voters, "no cheating." Sharp at 8 a.m., the official called the name of the first voter, a wizened, crippled man of 95. He limped to the palm-leaf voting booth, spread the ballot over a sandbag, hesitated for several minutes, then carefully punched...