Word: wool
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...some people have no respect for tradition, and the rejuvenated athletic department at Penn seems to contain a few such individuals. Going to the University of Pennsylvania for the athletic program used to be like going to Wool-worth's to buy a suit. But some of the more ambitious persons connected with Penn went out to rustle up some jocks, and the shortest of chats with some of the Quaker's heavyweight oarsmen, last Saturday at Worcester makes it quite clear that they came up with a pretty rare and rugged species. After a while, even the most docile...
Rising Deficits. Textile imports from countries that use American management methods and technology-but pay lower wages-are swamping the U.S. market. In 1961, the U.S. enjoyed a trade surplus of $53.7 million in cotton, wool and synthetic fibers. Since then, deficits have increased steadily. Last year the imbalance climbed 60%, to $807 million. Today 47% of all women's synthetic-fiber sweaters and 46% of all wool sweaters sold in the U.S. are manufactured abroad. One of every three men's all-wool suits is made from Japanese worsteds, and a quarter of men's shirts...
...incredibly lifelike, lifesize, unnervingly dignified Bactrians created by Manhattan's Nancy Graves, 28, a graduate of the Yale University art school and a former painter. She builds her camels on wood and steel armatures, stuffs them with polyurethane, covers them with goat hair or sheep's wool tinted with brown oil paint. She adds carefully molded toes and ears of cast acrylic, and voild!-the result makes a taxidermist's liveliest effort look damnably dead...
Three weeks after their epochal meeting Curtis and Welch were amalgamated into Curtwel productions. By 1967, they calculated that it was time to make the merger complete. In Paris, demurely outfitted in a crocheted wool miniskirt and a flowing train of photographers, Raquel took her second marriage vows, sighing confidentially, "I wish I had a double...
...could go, and, as he looked, people toppled slowly and fell like ninepins, full length on the pavement, like big cardboard boxes being dropped. . . . The acute angle of the horizon, squeezed between the houses, hurtled toward him. Beneath his feet it was night. A night of black cotton wool, shapeless and inorganic, while the sky was colorless, a ceiling, one more acute angle...