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Commencement was the perfect way to finish off my first year at Harvard. For two weeks, I and about fifty other fools in crimson wool jackets ran around school playing the same fight songs over and over again at reunions, Class Day and Commencement. The band helped to provide the appropriately festive atmosphere for all the hellos and good-byes. My favorite part of these sentimental performances was the singing of "Fair Harvard." Seniors, alums and other band members not playing at the moment would drape their arms around each other and slowly sway from side to side as they...

Author: By P. PATTY Li, | Title: POSTCARD FROM CAMBRIDGE | 6/25/1999 | See Source »

Commencement was the perfect way to finish off my first year at Harvard. For two weeks, I and about fifty other fools in crimson wool jackets ran around school playing the same fight songs over and over again at reunions, Class Day and Commencement. The band helped to provide the appropriately festive atmosphere for all the hellos and good-byes. My favorite part of these sentimental performances was the singing of "Fair Harvard." Seniors, alums and other band members not playing at the moment would drape their arms around each other and slowly sway from side to side as they...

Author: By P. PATTY Li, | Title: What's in a Song? | 6/25/1999 | See Source »

...mountainside, with arms outstretched and hands dug into the frozen ground, lay the bleached, mummified remains of a man. It was Mallory, his body almost perfectly preserved in the thin, dry air, a safety rope around his waist, and still partly clad in remnants of his tattered cotton, wool and tweed climbing clothes, the ragged collars stitched with markings G.L. MALLORY. He had apparently tumbled wildly down the slope, tried to arrest his descent with his hands, then died shortly thereafter--"still fighting, still gripping the rock to the end," says climber Jake Norton...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Everest: Who Got There First? | 5/17/1999 | See Source »

...they are gay. Real guys aren't gay, because, sex aside, they don't know how to be gay. A story called The Half-Skinned Steer is as grim as its title, and it begins, "In the long unfurling of his life, from tight-wound kid hustler in a wool suit riding the train out of Cheyenne to geriatric limper in this spooled-out year, Mero had kicked down thoughts of the place where he began, a so-called ranch on strange ground at the south hinge of the Big Horns...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Books: On Strange Ground | 5/17/1999 | See Source »

...manipulative personality. He could convince his dad of anything." After Harris cracked Brooks' car windshield with that ice ball last winter, for instance, Harris told his father that he thought he was throwing a harmless snowball. His dad believed him, but Judy Brown didn't. "You can pull the wool over your father's eyes," she told Eric, "but you can't pull it over mine." He pretended to be offended. "You calling me a liar?" he demanded. "Yes, I suppose I am," she said. Harris stomped away...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold: Portrait Of A Deadly Bond | 5/10/1999 | See Source »

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