Word: cowboying
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...expressed desire to cooperate in the work that faces us all in the days and weeks ahead." Sundown & a Cedar Fire. Vice President-elect Hubert Humphrey, just ar rived at the ranch from Minneapolis, clumped gamely along at Johnson's side, wearing a pair of size 1 1 cowboy boots on his size 8 feet and a five-gallon hat on what appeared to be a six-gallon head. Just as manfully, he smacked his lips with great gusto after partaking of barbecued spareribs. The President called for a couple of horses, mounted one, and suggested that Hubert climb...
Doffing his cowboy hat to the initial applause he proceeded to sing the best from every major songbag of rural America--he sang Leadbelly in his dialect, Blind Lemon Jefferson's Black Snake Moan (as dirty a blues as could be if one listens twice, but which Jack pretends is as clean as an Ivory-washed babe), Cisco Houston, Woody Guthrie, Eric von Schmidt and a dozen other folk classics...
...accolade to Eshkol: "We are very much alike. We are both farmers." Two months ago he had received an Arab potentate, Jordan's King Hussein. Now came a non-Arab Moslem, Iran's Shah Mohammed Reza Pahlevi and his Empress Farah Diba, to whom Johnson gave cowboy suits for their three-year-old son and one-year-old daughter...
...prostitutes. In the 200 yards of Herbertstrasse alone, 20 bordellos stand perfumed cheek by painted jowl, while round-the-clock shifts of whores sit waxen and wooden-faced be hind show windows. Elaborately coifed transvestites in spike heels wobble lumpily along the side streets, brushing shoulders with stewbums in cowboy boots and pale-faced hoods with patent-leather hair. At the Hippodrom, on a lurid avenue appropriately named Grosse Freiheit, bored horses trot in a circle as equally bored equestriennes strip while balancing on their backs. Along the Raper, a tourist can shoot a fake duck, get a tattoo, watch...
...Britain's rival teen cults threw a wild weekend punch-up at seaside Clacton. This time, some 3,000 "Mods" and "Rockers" flocked to Margate and Brighton, the Mods (for modern) spiffed up in drainpipe trousers and pastel shirts, the Rockers encased in black leather jackets and cowboy boots. At each resort the Mods, who ride scooters and call their girls "birds," pitched camp at one end of the beach. The Rockers, who care more for their motorcycles than their birds, formed a tight rectangle at the other end. With jackets incongruously zipped up despite the sun, the pallid...