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Progressive and radical groups on campus have long been harassed by the Harvard Administration. This is not the first time Harvard has thrown out the property of a left-wing grouping as will be shown in future writings by the RADACADS and others...
...political "earthquake." The Christian Democrats suffered an unprecedented loss of more than 5%, dropping from 38% to 33% of the popular vote. What shook the political establishment even more was a wave of protest votes, estimated at 18% to 20% of the electorate, squandered on splinter parties or simply thrown away in blank or spoiled ballots. Such gestures of contempt for the major parties were taken as a public warning against politics-as-usual while the nation's worsening economic ills went unattended...
Novelist Leslie Marmon Silko: $176,000 in 1981. Before receiving her award, Silko was an assistant professor of English at the University of Arizona. "I was sliding into despair. I might have thrown in the towel," she says. "Teaching just didn't give me the time I need for writing." Silko, who is a Laguna Pueblo Indian, now lives with her two sons on a small ranch in the Tucson Mountains. She has finished a screenplay, intended for public television, that is based on an Indian fable about an encounter with evil. She also reports "good progress...
...charming 1981 memoir, Totto-Chan, the Little Girl at the Window, which has sold an extraordinary 6 million copies, making it the bestselling book in Japanese history. The daughter of a father who was a concert violinist and a mother who trained as an opera singer, Tetsuko was thrown out of her rigid grammar school at the age of six because she liked to stand at an open window and chatter with the swallows and street musicians. She subsequently attended an experimental school in Tokyo that allowed her to blossom in her own way. Her book, a tribute to that...
...night parties on People flights, or about women who dress for the occasion in nothing but sweaters and pantyhose. Not tonight; we were wearier, more wrinkled and better acquainted than most plane populations, but we were not bizarre. As Newark fell away behind us like a beer can thrown out of a car window, we rediscovered each other ("Hey, there's Noam!" "The punk kids made it!") and pondered whether, at a price, to order coffee, tea or gin. Back at North Terminal, only a grubby memory now, veteran squatters were getting comfortable in front of the stand...