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...knowing when to cut the right deal and let other ones go by. At Bunting's English Diner, where Mayor Jim Mathias and three of his predecessors gather early to sort through the day's problems, they like to recall how simple it used to be. Back in the '30s, when their fathers came to build the WPA beach-front barriers, vacant lots were auctioned for $50 apiece. "Anyone who bought land and held onto it made money," says Fish Powell, especially after Highway 50 connected the Eastern Shore to the restless mainland. Now the price...
...used to envy Grantland Rice. Part of my jealousy had to do with the desire to write phrases like "Outlined against the blue-gray October sky..." But what I really coveted was the athletes Rice covered in the 1920s and '30s, the so-called Golden Age of Sports: Ty Cobb, Jim Thorpe, Bobby Jones, Bill Tilden, Babe Ruth, Babe Didrikson, Red Grange, the Brown Bomber, the Four Horsemen and the Four Musketeers...
...least three such segments, almost distinct enough to be separate stories. The first is lazy, easy, short--no more than a dozen pages--an ear-perfect comedy routine of the ancient, comfortable insults that men use to get through a day of work. Virgil Caudill, in his early 30s, is laboring his way up to foreman on the Rocksalt, Ky., garbage-collecting crew. He and his pals jaw away at one another about an almighty hangover one of them has shown up with, about a flashy woman in a gaudy car, about a pup one of them is trying...
...outsider as a visitor who had not enjoyed the full Harvard experience and was not qualified to think of myself as a Harvard person (whatever that means). My sense of the Harvard I missed is embodied in George Weller's lovely but little-remembered novel from the mid-30s Not to Eat, Not for Love. It was only at reunions 25,40,45 and now 50 years later that I came to see that we were all outsiders one way and another. In some part, I suppose, it was because we were a wartime class ('45 and '46 might well...
Cartoon directors are kids at heart, and the Warner aces (Jones, Avery, Friz Freleng, Bob Clampett) were brilliant kids, all in their 20s or early 30s, when they created Porky, Daffy and Bugs. Freleng was the anchor, making crisp vaudeville comedies. Clampett bent his stories and pummeled his characters into manic, surreal, endless inventive farce; his great period (1942-46) deserves a book of its own. Jones' films were about people--all right, barnyard critters, but human withal--who endured life's vithithitudes (as Daffy would say) with amazing grace and Charlie Chaplin's physical...