Word: yorkerism
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Since the New Yorker took the field and the President renounced a second full term, residual anti-Kennedy passions have quickened. Condemned variously for his antiwar stand, his "opportunism" in entering the race, his hippie hair, his pro-civil rights proclivities, his vendetta against Teamster Boss Jimmy Hoffa, his indentureship in the '50s under Joe McCarthy and myriad unspecified acts of vindictiveness, Kennedy seems to many to appeal to "the darker impulses of the American spirit" -a sin that he was unwise enough to ascribe to Lyndon Johnson last month. Said a Los Angeles housewife last week, after switching...
...claimed for his own since he made his first appearance as a New Yorker short-story writer 15 years ago. In his own words, he is "kind of elegiacally concerned with the Protestant middle class." Among modern American writers, only John Cheever shares Updike's sense of accumulated loss, his feeling that the national past contained a wholeness and an essential goodness that have now evaporated. Even John O'Hara, an acknowledged social historian, makes no plea for the special virtues of the past. For other novelists, the present may be a disaster, but there is no indication...
...called those writings "valentines" to the friends and family back home in the small (pop. 5,639) Pennsylvania Dutch farm town of Shillington, three miles from Reading, where John was born. His mother, Linda Grace Hoyer Updike, is a cosmopolitan, well-educated writer herself (four stories in The New Yorker since John blazed the way), and she has always loathed everything about Shillington. She admits now to having broken up a high-school romance of John's because the girl was "of Shillington, this place I found so contemptible...
...arrived at Harvard in the fall of 1950, scrawny, big-nosed, friendless cabbage green, and lugging three scrapbooks of poems with their rejection slips from The New Yorker, Saturday Evening Post and Collier's. His four years in Cambridge were marked by a series of triumphs, marred only by his failure three times running to get accepted into Poet Archibald MacLeish's creative-writing seminar. He poured his energies into the Lampoon, the undergraduate humor magazine. At the end of his sophomore year, he met a fine-arts major at Radcliffe named Mary Pennington, two years his senior...
...longer exists. No one now can summon up the unblemished patriotic fervor of You're a Grand Old Flag, Yankee Doodle Dandy and Over There. Few men now can adorn a woman in the romantic gauze and adoring awe of a song like Mary. Every addicted New Yorker and theatergoer will always feel a special tingle of sentiment from the opening bars of Give My Regards to Broadway, but the contrast with the squalor of Times Square now is painful...