Word: button
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With In Maine (Button; $6.95), an anthology of his newspaper columns, John N. Cole, a flinty ex-New Yorker who founded and edits the crusading liberal weekly Maine Times, makes an oblique case for limiting growth. He does so in the form of eloquent descriptions of the state that he clearly loves. There is the January morning when the bay near Cole's house in Brunswick becomes a 30-sq.-mi. ice rink, and he glides across it alone, watching the sun and clouds pass in perfect reflection under his skates. With unabashed enthusiasm, Cole explains his lifetime love...
...should have seen me then, I tell you. Cocky as hell. Why I used to carry an extra pair of glasses all the time cause I was always getting them busted up in fights. Denim pants and shirt and a gray cap with a Local 25 button on the back. I used to think I could beat any man I met. Course I couldn't always...
When Bull finds the right conversation he stops the machine. Then everything is taken into the President-the Sony with its defunct erasure button, the reels in place ready to go. The President does his listening either in the Lincoln Sitting Room, which is on the second floor of the mansion in the southeast corner, or in his E.O.B. office. Both places are secluded and relatively quiet. Yet the sounds of Washington still intrude, and earphones are provided to assure the highest quality listening. When Nixon is in the Lincoln Sitting Room, the Sony is placed on the small desk...
...various microphones. Stage-rear--for no apparant reason at all--stand three plaster choir boys, cherubic and smiling. The lights 'dim, and a body walks on. It's a man dressed in a morning coat, sandles, sunglasses, hat, and G-string. Period. Sweet Pie holds up an "Ike/Nixon '54" button: "This just shows there were things queerer than me a long time...
...sounds of war. Cannons roar, bells chime, whistles and trumpets pierce the muffled drumbeat. Seeking superrealism in his interpretation, Atlanta Symphony Conductor Robert Shaw installed 16 electronically controlled explosive devices to simulate cannons in the pit. Last week, before a crowd of 1,500, he pressed a button on the conductor's stand on cue, and a smoky, skull-splitting blast filled the Atlanta Memorial Arts Center. That triggered a smoke-sensitive automatic fire alarm. In minutes, 25 eager firemen charged into the auditorium, axes and hoses at the ready. While a dazed audience watched helplessly, the firemen made...