Word: mailbox
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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When Vicki Lefever, 29, a pregnant Santa Monica housewife, went to her mailbox last Dec. 12, she found a disturbing notice. It informed her that her building was being converted into a condominium, and that she and her policeman husband could either buy their apartment, a two-bedroom flat renting at $395 a month, for $95,000 within 30 days-or move out. She was so upset that her blood pressure soared to 160 over 100, and she went into labor, giving birth prematurely that night to 6-lb. 3-oz. Eliot. "My doctor says the notice caused the whole...
When he did, two years later, not a memory trace of the first episode remained in the publishing world. Rejection slips again crowded Ross's mailbox. "While your prose style is very lucid," wrote Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, "the content of the book didn't inspire the level of enthusiasm ..." After a long delay, Random House sent a form letter, and an editor at William Morrow postscripted a consolation: "Sorry, I liked the opening gambit. Why don't you find an agent...
...multitudes of happy souls, Santa Claus did not pop down the chimney this year. He squeezed into the mailbox. It was history's greatest mail-order spending spree, and despite the catalogues' enticements to decadence and conspicuous frivolity, Americans for the most part ordered up gifts that tended to be more tenable than trendy, disproving the adage that there's no fool like a Yule fool. Said Bergdorf Goodman Executive Vice President Leonard Hankin: "This was the kind of Christmas where people were investing in things because they were not so sure of what was going...
These days the scene down in the basement of Mem Hall is bustling. The pigeon-holed mailbox is crammed with as many as 30 to 40 new releases from major record companies each day, to be perused by the programming directors of WHRB's rock, jazz and classical music departments. There is ambitious talk of building a remote-control transmitter in Medford, which would increase the potential listenership by several thousand. WHRB executives themselves exude professionalism and self-confidence...
After writing my mother a letter in last week's column, I fully expected a reply from the ol' gal to arrive in my mailbox this week. Well, Tuesday came--no letter. Wednesday came--no letter. THURSDAY came--no letter. And then yesterday, just as I was packing my bags for Princeton, the president of The Crimson, Frank Connolly ambled up to me. "J.D.," he said, "I think we should talk." He was holding a piece of paper that read as follows; October...