Word: tell
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Dates: during 2000-2000
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...hear those closest to him tell it, George W. Bush never broke a sweat during the 36 days of electoral limbo that almost deprived him of the presidency. His closest advisers, friends and even family members all describe Bush's mood during that tense period as "serene" or "calm" or "even keeled." He was never angry, they say, never worried or self-pitying. His sister Dorothy Bush Koch was so concerned about his state of mind that she would call down to Texas periodically to see if he needed cheering up. He didn't. "Don't worry about me," George...
...Election Day, Bush handled the issue with aplomb. "It's an accurate story," he told reporters. "I oftentimes said that years ago I made some mistakes: I occasionally drank too much...I learned my lesson." Says Arkansas Governor Mike Huckabee, another Bush friend: "In the early days, you could [tell] those questions were rubbing on him. At the end, he told people where the fence was and dared them to crawl over it. You never sensed he was publicly or privately having an emotional moment over...
Before publicly smearing individuals and organizations, one would hopefully check all facts and seek to tell the whole story. Unfortunately, this did not happen. Despite naive and unsubstantiated claims to the contrary, Republican Club elections were open, fair and represented the best interests both of the club and the Harvard community...
Enos doesn't sing, dance, act or even drive trucks--except for this one time--but he does seem to tell jokes. "I might do a commercial for Ryder, but I'm not looking to do something spectacular like run for President," he says. In level of fame, Enos ranks himself below Bronson Pinchot and even under Spillane clients Divine Brown and Faye Resnick. "Those people are focused on a whole story," he says. "I'm just one person who transported ballots from West Palm Beach to Tallahassee." In fact, Enos seems kind of creeped out by the attention...
...they belonged to a stranger. But each time I teach GWENDOLYN BROOKS, each time I revisit her poems, her words, they climb up on my knees and sit in tight contentment. They speak to me of form and color, patterns and dawns. They talk of myths; they tell me where the flesh lives; where a troop of young heroes and sheroes lean back in chairs, "beautiful. Impudent. Ready for life." Where the young "live not for battles won. Live not for the-end-of-the-song. Live in the along." I never have to ask where are the flowers...