Word: buggings
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...tough but unglamorous duty at the Pentagon. A graduate of Ohio's Miami University, he started with an infantry commission in 1917, saw combat service in World War I (Silver Star for gallantry), then buckled down to a sucession of staff and training jobs. Modest, loyal, and a bug for detail, he moved to one tough assignment after another: chief of the Army's Operations and Plans Division (1943), boss of the 1948 A-bomb tests at Eniwetok, director of the Defense Department's weapons-evaluation system, Army Vice Chief of Staff. Yet he remained more anonymous...
...embarrassed bride knelt before the Gaika elders to pay homage, and was almost tumbled to the ground by an overenthusiastic camera bug. Then, draping a leopard skin about her shoulders, she picked up an assagai (spear) to fling it into the Royal Kraal gatepost-the traditional demand for admission to the Gaika tribe. The jam of whites spoiled her aim: she missed. Bridegroom Anthorpe, in a long leopard skin, gave up in disgust and returned to his dressing room. Not for another hour did Anthorpe confront his bride. At an open-air altar, flanked by the mayors of nearby cities...
After that, no office could hold him. For the rest of his life, with the pure, cold, scientific passion of a lepidopterist, he was true to butterflies. He even found a girl who was willing to spend her evenings in his "Bug Room," setting specimens and cataloguing his collection. His subsequent marriage became an insect-ridden partnership. Between them, Newman and his wife built their hobby of butterfly-farming into a paying business...
Eddie never paid the slightest attention to critics. He would talk to artists, find out whom they admired, then drop around for a look. One of his prizes was a haunted, bug-eyed self-portrait by Stanley Spencer that Eddie found in a smelly cow-stable studio. "The lust of possession surged up in me," Eddie recalled, "and I asked the price." It was ?18, and Eddie marched out with it under his arm, the paint scarcely dry. Eddie helped young artists in other ways, too. "Usually," says a friend, "he would go out of the studio with a painting...
Hawk-nosed Gaetano Marzotto, Count of Valdagno and Castelvecchio, scion of a long line of Italian textile men, hopped into his Lancia one day in 1949 and headed south through the boot of Italy for a vacation. When night fell, the count stopped at one bug-ridden hotel after another, looking for a place to sleep, but found them all booked solid. Marzotto finally slept in his car, woke up rumpled and resolved. He dashed back to Rome, called on President Einaudi and Premier de Gasperi, and asked: "Do you realize how much good tourist money Italy is losing...