I’ve been to some places in this world where people should not be obliged to live. To remember those grim scenes — as in spite of myself I sometimes do — is to be reminded that we’re privileged to live in an urban forest in one of the planet’s sainted zones.
I confess to being fiercely devoted to this community that 464,000 Kansas Citians call home. At risk of being accused of boosterism, I consider this place at the prairies edge a collection of treasures.
When traveling in some of the less touristic parts of the world, the issue of diet can sometimes test the imagination.
As U.S. leaders denied reality, Americans abroad were part of a groundswell advising our government to do something to stop Adolf Hitler.
The name, Hans Zinsser, meant nothing to me. Nor will it, I suppose, to a reader here. Which only means that there must be in this world many individuals of great accomplishment whose virtues never receive the public notice they deserve.
In a frantic multitude they began arriving at first light, swarming to the tubes of fine grain and Niger seed and cakes of suet that hang in the gnarled redbud tree just outside the breakfast room window.
Outrages are being committed by Muslim fanatics throughout much of Africa and the Middle East. This is in no way a broadside aimed at the followers of the prophet. I respect their devotion to their sacred text. What I cannot respect is the evil done in its name.
By midday in the Ozark hill country, the temperature registered in the 60s. We could not know how brief the reprieve would be.
Never mind what poet Robert Frost wrote. Observation is the most dependable teacher. And what I have learned during this recent spell of nasty weather is that, in fact, its bad fences that make good neighbors.
The Olympic presentation, beginning with the breathtaking opening ceremony, has been not just a celebration of youth and sport but also an announcement of Russia’s changing place on the world stage.
For a journalist there’s no worse handicap than the inability to remember names, and that’s been a curse of mine since my days as a cub reporter. For the squirrel, however, forgetfulness could have fatal consequences.
The divide between Germany and Russia echoes in the words of a dancer and a writer.
For every semester of the ensuing four years, his was the instruction I most valued. And his were the assignments on which I was determined to do my very best. By my last year, he was more than an instructor. He was a priceless friend.
No subject on earth excites the reading public or engages the international press quite as avidly as the report of conjugal misbehavior on the part of some notable individual of high station — the higher the better.
Its one thing to have lived a cruel winter by choice. But what I cannot help thinking is how many others there must be for whom such a spell of brutal weather brings a kind of pain the more fortunate will never know.
Its a pity what motion pictures have come to. Not all of them, of course, but a good many. Ive endured some stinkers over the years, but the price of admission being what it is, Ive only walked out on one.
In 1964, Richard B. Fowler, The Stars president and publisher, dispatched me to Africa my first foreign assignment. I was proud then, and am proud still, of the stand The Star had taken against South Africas apartheid racial policies, an issue of fundamental justice half a world away.
Fifty years after the assassination of President John F. Kennedy, the telling and retelling of that day has been practically unending. Most of it I’ve neither listened to nor read. For, selfish as it might seem, I simply have not wanted to live that sadness again.
I’m not a winter-ready sort of fellow. I regret that we’re in the dark of the year, with a stretch of bitter weather ahead.
What chance might there be that the season’s occasion of joy and giving will ease somewhat — if only temporarily — the climate of rancor and contention that has come to characterize the conduct of our public affairs?
Is a college education worth the time and the price? That question was posed by two polls whose results received prominent notice in the recent news.
A report of possible Earth-like planets brought fresh to memory a conversation, on a day nearly 30 years ago, with a man who had devoted decades to considering and writing about the mysteries of the universe.
The lack of contact and affection in early years can deform the nature of any sentient creature, human or otherwise. And now, at an age likely somewhere between 12 and 15, Tip, the Brooklyn tabby, faces a challenge of a different kind.
An estimated 20,000 Africans in the last 20 years have lost their lives while attempting in unseaworthy boats or on primitive rafts to navigate Atlantic coastal waters or cross the Mediterranean in the quest for safer and more productive lives.
Young men and women who choose careers as teachers do so intending to serve. They are not volunteering for hazardous duty — not knowingly, at any rate. So what in heaven’s name is the matter? Are youngsters today that different?