Word: leatherizing
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...Free Press, the Miami Herald and the morning Philadelphia Inquirer, as well as the News. Unknown to most of his friends, the chunky bachelor was also a homosexual who frequented the nearby "merry-go-round" area of the city, where he sought out male prostitutes and dropped in at leather bars. Apparently, last week this secret life led to his murder...
...world. On stage he is a teenage hood, but a likable one, a would-be hard guy who doesn't take himself all that seriously. Much of his act is calculated to produce this image. In his neo-greaser outfit--baggy pants, a workshirt with cut-off sleeves, a leather jacket, and a floppy, oversized woolen ski cap that he periodically pulls over his eyes, throws in the air, or loses among the tangle of amp and guitar cords on stage--he looks like a kid who has some inborn style but doesn't have the time or money...
There's a lot more to Hines than the fact that he is very tall, hails from New York City, and can put a leather projectile through an iron hoop with greater consistency than most of his peers in Leverett House. But Dr. Naismith's game is not the only thing in Hines's life. Because Hines doesn't follow the script, his athletic career at Harvard has been tortured by false starts and stops...
During these same years a Harvard coach noticed that on rainy days his players' uniforms would soak up 20-30 pounds in excess water. Someone suggested leather outfits, and a Boston tailor went to work. Harvard surprised the Elis by appearing at the 1893 game in new waterproof uniforms, much to the displeasure of Yale all-American "Pudge" Heffelfinger '93, who was attending his first game as a recent alumnus. "Pudge," thinking the leather had been employed solely to prevent those Harvard sissies from bodily harm, bounded onto the field soon after the game had started and began tearing uniforms...
...indeed. In Plymouth, after a half-hour warmup by the folksy, dungareed, unnamed back-up band, a figure became distinguishable at stage rear. It was a masked man in a gray cowboy hat and black leather jacket, looking slender and spindly, picking his way cautiously forward through the microphones and cables. He gave his guitar a few licks and then, from behind the mask, started singing. The applause began to grow. After a pulsating rendition of an old favorite, It Ain 't Me, Babe, he pulled back the mask to reveal the familiar ironic smile and hawk...