Rebirth after the great flood
(12/01/99 5:00am)
My mother knocked on my bedroom door at five o'clock on Thanksgiving Day and said, "Do you want to go for a ride?"
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My mother knocked on my bedroom door at five o'clock on Thanksgiving Day and said, "Do you want to go for a ride?"
It's a shame that our neighbors 11 miles down the road can't find something more significant to complain about.
As much a reunion as an activist forum, a panel discussion Friday afternoon on the 1979 murders of five Communist Workers Party members in Greensboro, N.C. was marked by a kinship between the audience and the speakers.
On Nov. 17, 1980, exactly one year and two weeks after the shootings of five Communist Workers Party members in Greensboro, N.C. at an anti-Ku Klux Klan rally, the trial of those accused of the murders ended. Several Klan members and self-proclaimed Nazis had been charged with the murders of Cesar Cause, Dr. Mike Nathan, Bill Sampson, Sandi Smith and Jim Waller.
The bane of a lazy student or the first love of a literary connoisseur, the book is one of those ubiquitous inventions that society comes into contact with daily but rarely appreciates. Its classification as an invention and an object of thoughtful evolution is cause for a doubletake; the high-tech generation is unused to thinking of a book as anything more than the delivery system for knowledge, a plate on which worlds or words are served up to the imagination.
fter the crippling effect his first divorce had on him, Clay wasn't sure he could ever get up and on with the life he had carefully set out before him twenty years ago. He had been one of those well-planned people, the kind with a stiff trajectory to follow, an unbending path of life, career and love, leading all the way to a successful quiet retirement and later, long after the grandchildren and other markers of old age, a peaceful and painless death.
Terry Sanford once joked that if you looked at his résumé, you would think he couldn't hold down job.
Regardless of who they are, you can tell a southern family reunion from a mile away. You can see it by looking at the mothers, from whom there's a certain amount of ooh'ing and ahh'ing over near and distant cousins' babies. You can see it with the men-the fathers, sons and brothers-from which comes a certain intangible, back-slapping freedom of spirit that is present only when people are surrounded by those who know them best.
Ideas. From fuzzy, half-conscious daydreams to concepts that burst full upon a mind with white-hot energy, they are the nexus from which blooms the concrete evidence of neurons in action-the fundamental start of novels or nations, the exposition of fugues or the universities that populate the world. In the beginning they are unseeable, purely mental and totally unpredictable.
I have learned over the past week that, "You can't go home again," has many different meanings. For most people it expresses the feeling of nostalgia for those times of innocence and curiosity that surround childhood and adolescence.
Before you sit down to your next meal, ask yourself one of these questions: "What is food?" "Why do we eat the food we do?" or "What does this say about us?"
While many people in my age bracket were camping out for the first new George Lucas movie in 15 years, I jeered at the antics of the sheep-like masses that lined up outside movie theaters earlier this month.
This is the fourth in a five-part series examining emergency trauma care at Duke and in the community.
This is the second story in a five-part series examining emergency trauma care at Duke and in the local community.
This is the first story in a five-part series examining emergency trauma care in the Duke University Health System and the local community.
After working in the news business for a certain amount of time, you learn that, when a stranger calls you unexpectedly, it's usually because they want you to cover their concert, play, movie or coming-out party.
The program for "New Works for the Stage: Night B" notes that all the works presented are student-written works in progress.
Sin. The word is a Colt .45 pistol loaded with Judeo-Christian ethics and accumulated centuries of Jesus-centered self-flagellation. Sin. Of which Satan-if you believe in him-is the source. Yeah, that sin. Remember? Like the embarrassing memories that often accompany it, the concept of "sin" isn't always at the top of one's mind. And so, if you A) don't fit into a certain religious group and B) don't care, you might only find yourself thinking of "sin" at most once every three months at most, with the same nostalgia reserved for when you, say, remember the capital of Nebraska.
When music reviewers and publicists talk about Joe Henry, they gush, they praise and they make sure you know that Joe Henry is the best as-of-now-not-yet-platinum artist they know about.
Born in Hong Kong in 1955, poet Marilyn Chin came to the United States soon after with her family. One of the first signs of the change in location was her father's insistence that her name be changed from Mei Ling to Marilyn. "He thought it was necessary for us to change our names when we went to school," she said. In the poem "How I Got That Name: an essay on assimilation" she remembers her father as a man obsessed with the blonde bombshell of the day-Marilyn Monroe. She added that her sister's name was changed to May Jayne, for another star, Jayne Mansfield.