Word: dogged
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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Despite reports to the contrary, it is the hot dog, not apple pie, that is the supremely typical American dish. Or at least it used to be, before it fell on evil times. These days, an Agriculture Department hearing was told last week, franks average as much as 32.% fat, 11% more than the franks of the '50s. Some go as high as 51%-leading to the question of whether the product should be called a fatfurter...
...clearly an intolerable condition. To set things straight, Mrs. Virginia Knauer, President Nixon's adviser on consumer affairs, proposed a maximum fat limit of 30%. She would also require manufacturers to tell on the label exactly what is inside-something dog-food sellers have long had to do. Often more concerned about industry than the consumer, the department was at first stubborn...
...Knauer, though, will probably have the last word. Nixon himself telephoned her to express approval. Recalling days long ago, Nixon almost recited an ode to the hot dog. "Stick to your guns, Virginia," he said. "I'm behind you 100%. I came from humble origins. Why, we were raised on hot dogs and hamburgers. We've got to look after the hot dog." It may not have sounded like Keats, but to millions of hot-dog-loving Americans, it undoubtedly sang just as sweetly...
...music box ground out Fly Me to the Moon, Cartoonist Charles Schulz presented each of the three Apollo 10 astronauts with toy replicas of Snoopy, the lop-eared dog of derring-do from his comic strip "Peanuts." The hound, along with another of Schulz's characters, Charlie Brown, achieved celestial fame as the code names of the Apollo lunar module and command ship. Schulz naturally wanted to meet the astronauts who had adopted his creations; so they were introduced and exchanged gifts. Schulz received a photo of the space-traveling Snoopy making an inverted rendezvous with Charlie Brown...
Thereafter, as Edel sees it, in all ways, James revived. He moved from London to Sussex with his "faithful fat dog" Tosca, a canary and a bicycle. He had dinner at 8 on his terrace, as if his English cottage were a Florentine villa. Finally he bought Lamb House in Rye, acquired an agent, and managed his business with unsuspected shrewdness. He priced his short stories (in good times, he wrote one a week) at $250, got as much as $375 for an article, and insisted on $3,000 from Harper's Weekly for serial rights to The Awkward...