Word: waspish
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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...there must be beguiling charm and a contagious affection. Farrow and Perkins project neither. Farrow's Phoebe is naive without the endearing thread of home spun innocence. Her vocal habit of putting equal stress on each syllable, word and sentence leads to aural torpor. Perkins' Jason is waspish and petulant with out a trace of roguish lovability...
...described in America Revised (Little, Brown; $9.95), a heavily researched book due out this fall. Its author, Frances FitzGerald, 38, examines America's view of itself as reflected in school history texts going back more than a century. Her conclusion: the once familiar tapestry of American history, long Waspish, pious and upbeat, has been ripped apart and converted into a glum, pluralistic patchwork. America and its view of the past are now changing so rapidly that few American schoolchildren in the future will share any common attitude toward their country's history. The books they read, now produced...
...nine-month search for a successor to Kingman Brewster Jr. After 14 tumultuous years in New Haven, Brewster opted for London and the United States ambassadorship to England, a position many thought suited him well. With Brewster's departure, the Yale Corporation had a chance to revamp Yale's Waspish image. Hannah E. Gray, Yale's provost and then acting president, was said to be in the running. But one week before the decision was announced, Gray forfeited, accepting an offer to become president of the University of Chicago. Dean Rosovsky, heavily involved in plotting reforms of Harvard's undergraduate...
Once the Guggenheims were the richest Jewish family in the U.S. Today, no males who bear the family's name still practice Judaism. Solomon's grandson, who now heads the shrunken business empire, is an Episcopalian with an archetypically Waspish name, Peter Lawson-Johnston. Meyer was right. His famous bundle was scattered by history, and the name Guggenheim is now celebrated only on the doors of museums and foundation offices...
...second naps at the wheel. I still cannot remember how we got to Fort Lauderdale alive, but my next memory after the giant syllabus and an uncomfortably close look at some palm trees is that of Namo and I waking up on the beach in our shorts, two pale WASPish figures lying next to a herd of tanned and blonded young Aryan demigods frolicking in the sun. When I looked around me I noticed a girl from Michigan State, coated with coconut oil, lying next to us and leering at me without speaking. I put my heard back...