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SEVERAL hundred of the blacks danced around us in a tremendous, floating wave of bodies as we slowly made our way toward Congo Square. Two hundred years ago, the local slaves were allowed by custom to dance in that square every Sunday. The slave drummers would pound out their ancestral rhythms while their brothers would chant and dance for a few hours of freedom...

Author: By Thomas A. Sancton, | Title: New Orleans Jazz Funeral Pounds Gaily for the Dead | 5/20/1969 | See Source »

...beat and pound for the dead...

Author: By Thomas A. Sancton, | Title: New Orleans Jazz Funeral Pounds Gaily for the Dead | 5/20/1969 | See Source »

Loudest and gayest. Beat and pound for the dead. That is it! The New Orleans funeral has always been an occasion for rejoicing as well as sorrow, celebrating a good man's release from pain and toil, and his passing into a happier life. Even the titles of the spirituals they play express a bittersweet longing for the release: "Just a Little While to Stay Here," "My Life Will Be Sweeter Some Day," "Take My Hand, Precious Lord," "Just a Closer Walk With Thee," "Bye and Bye, When the Morning Comes...

Author: By Thomas A. Sancton, | Title: New Orleans Jazz Funeral Pounds Gaily for the Dead | 5/20/1969 | See Source »

...decade, Maclnnes has celebrated his city and its way-in outsiders in two fair novels and a third that is superb. The three have now been reissued after long neglect, enabling the reader to roam the nightside of London with Maclnnes. Such trips involve whispers, a confusion of lights, pound notes exchanging hands, presences, but most typically a shabby street that could never be found again and a plunge down a dim staircase. At the bottom, a door. Closed, heavy, guarding the Platonic idea of door. Inside, music, smoke, cadenced talk as pungent as the smoke, and with...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Books: Epistle to the Mugs | 5/16/1969 | See Source »

...FIRST FEW days were miserable. Ten hours of ax-swinging is grueling work for a newcomer, and the olive green cans of C-rations and the soggy ground back at the campsite offer little solace. When fresh food shipments arrived, they contained a pound of butter and several quarts of apple juice per man, but only one piece of fresh meat. The men's bodies quickly became caked with accumulations of sweaty soot, but no one had the energy or the tolerance of cold to wash in the glacial streams at night. It became almost impossible to keep feet...

Author: By Mark W. Oberle, | Title: Why Not Let the Forests Burn? | 5/16/1969 | See Source »

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