Word: cowboying
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...almost marooned in his solitude. To find him, a visitor heads north from Fresno, Calif., and up into the Sierras, following a single-lane trail that winds endlessly along 9,000-ft. precipices. Finally, the traveler arrives at Florence Lake, and there is Karl, smiling nervously, waiting in rumpled cowboy clothes, wearing a three-day beard and smelling of horses. He helps you into his aluminum outboard motorboat and you putter to the other end of the lake. There you mount a horse, and three hours later, after climbing mountains and slogging through countless streams and upland bogs, you reach...
...chews children, attacks joggers and howls into the night in a cramped apartment that makes it neurotic. When it does get out-twice a day, if its master can manage-it turns street and sidewalk alike into messy booby traps for pedestrians. The brassy blonde in the film Midnight Cowboy said it all when she coaxed her toy poodle: "Do it for mama...
...can/There'll always be a place for my ol' man/Just drop by when it's convenient to/Be sure and call before you do." The nephew of Hollywood Composer-Conductors Alfred and Lionel Newman, Randy the arranger is also a match for Randy the balladeer. In Cowboy, for example ("Cold gray buildings where a hill should be/Steel and concrete closin' in on me"), he evokes lonely saddles and scattered dust with craggy orchestral brush strokes that show a familiarity with Aaron Copland's Rodeo and Billy...
When Nixon got to Kiel Auditorium in St. Louis, the cares of Washington were washed away in the most tumultuous reception that he has been given since he won the 1968 nomination in Miami. He was among his own people, 14,000 Jaycees and wives-the Kansans in white cowboy hats, the Indianians in referees' jackets with little whistles around their necks, the Iowans in yellow Tyrolean hats. After Hail to the Chief, Nixon waved his arms through a roaring seven-minute ovation...
...response, others wave it with defensive pride, crack skulls in its name, and fly it from their garbage trucks, police cars and skyscraper scaffolds. In pride or put-on, Pop or protest, Old Glory's heraldry blazons battered campers and Indianapolis 500 racers, silver pins and trash bins, glittering cowboy vests and ample bikinied chests. The flag has become the emblem of America's disunity, and, in a land where once only wars abroad set it fluttering in vast numbers, the caricature of a new conflict is raging right at home. The old meaning still persists; hardly any American could...