The man who had never heard of Frank Sinatra: he lived A perfectly ordinary life in America. Born in 1915, He followed all the fads, read the newspapers, listened To Television, knew who Dean Martin and Sammy whathisname Were (Sinatra's friends), but somehow, by a one in a Zillion fluke, whenever Sinatra came up, he was out of the room. Or his attention was diverted by something else, and (You will say this is impossible, that it cannot be), never Heard him sing, like a man in my generation who somehow Missed the Beatles though he had heard everything else. Once, just as he was about to hear the name Frank Sinatra A plane flew overhead—he was fifty-five years old—his hearing A little more impaired. He had heard of Humphrey Bogart, Of Elizabeth Taylor, of Walter Cronkite, and of perhaps a hundred Forty thousand other celebrities names by the time he died, And yet he had never heard of Frank Sinatra. The Greeks had That famous saying, "The luckiest man is he who was never born." Which is kind of gloomy, but I think they were wrong. The luckiest man is he who never heard of Frank Sinatra.
The word has been spelled differently. The peple in Chaucer Represent a complex class with raunchy, flexible banners of living color Replacing the earlier pepul and the Popul Vuh. As for the peeple who span the engravings, they look around them Happily and defiantly and threateningly, surveyed in their turn By reactionary anti-census takers, with pupilles, two eyes, like those Of Peter the Hermit, mismatched and out of alignment, forced Therefore to see and read two-dimensionally and truly. When peiple sacrificed someone they called him a pipple With contempt, and while he screamed, like prose, forced out Of his apartment with his family and while the young children wept There was a lot of laughter, and the payple wrote it down as journalism. The silent o at the center of people, which is the whole meaning Of modern English, as it proceeds towards the twenty-first Century, is the tambourine that no one knows how to play.