Word: tree
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Dates: during 1970-1970
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Zacher's offbeat passion for the organ comes naturally. All the way back to the great-uncle who lost a church job at the turn of the century for playing the then revolutionary Max Reger, Zacher's family tree has been heavy with organists. His reputation as both an avant-garde and a classical player was established during twelve years as chief organist at red brick Wellingsbütte Church near Hamburg. He moved to his new and prestigious Essen post only two months ago. In recent years he has performed at nearly every one of Europe...
...beginning," says the son, summing up the most dazzling period in his parents' life, "it must have been lovely." But the scene swiftly darkened. Arlen's novels were like the Christmas ornaments his mother repacked each year in the exact order they fitted on the tree-studded with glittery, Wilde-like epigrams and romantic rejoinders. In short, just what the Depression years would find abhorrent. In the '30s, Arlen wrote a few books-unsuccessful -after that, none at all. He passed most of the day gossiping with admiring cronies in the King Cole...
...chop down the apple tree you won't have any apple thieves," says Vice Squad Detective James M. Harrigan. Judge Charles W. Halleck made a more practical observation several weeks ago. He ordered that one convicted suburbanite's $148 fine be used to pay rehabilitation expenses for a twice-convicted prostitute who needed tuition for a keypunch operator's course. Said Halleck: "If men find out that they will have to pay to send these ladies of the evening to school, they might quit going out there...
...Zealand's Janet Frame, history is a hereditary malignancy that engulfs the present and dooms the future to madness, loneliness and death. Intensive Care, her eighth novel, continues her preoccupation with the subject. At one point, she even spells history "hiss-tree," linking it uncomfortably with Eden's serpent. "All dreams," she writes, "lead back to the nightmare garden...
...doubt. As Miss Frame expresses it in the poetry that threads the novel: "It is the company of weather I crave in this weatherless room/the thermometer reads me only." In the Waipori of the future, the problem of establishing existence would be even more terrifying. If a plastic tree topples into the vinyl grass, does it make a sound if the forest is not electronically bugged...