Dick Clark Quotes

Music is the soundtrack of our lives.

At the age of six, the criteria for handsome was simply: "Is he not related to me?" and "Have I seen him on television?" That was it. By this standard, Larry Bird, Dick Clark, and Andy Rooney. All handsome guys.

All superheroes had pretty much the same problem. Batman was flash and sexy compared to Bruce Wayne and even Robin was a lot cooler than Dick Grayson. As for Superman, well. It was a fucking miracle that Clark Kent had never committed suicide.

Who's the genius who thought replacing Dick Clark with Ryan Seacrest was a good idea?

It'll be like Clark Kent and Superman,” said Chastity. “Only in this case, Superman really loves dick. #NotHisKryptonite." "And now you're making it weird." "Okay, okay. Fine. Superman is only moderately interested in dick.

If you want to stay young-looking, pick your parents very carefully.

I don’t set trends. I just find out what they are and exploit them.

Biting his lip, he dropped his bags next to the bed and took a few deep breaths. He looked down at his half-hard dick. “Didn’t you hear him? We have to behave.” Good lord, he was talking to his penis.

Dick Clark was pleased with the group’s success, but he was also happy to be rid of them. They had kept many of the other acts awake by practicing late at night on the bus, and Diane Ross had too many fights with other artists. Once, Ross had a spat with Brenda Holloway, who she thought had taken her can of hair spray. Another fight was with the Crystals’ Delores Brooks, whom Diane accused of stealing a pair of her shoes. Their shouting got them both temporarily kicked off the bus. Another time, she jumped on the back of Mary Wilson, pulling her hair and punching her. Other women complained that Ross hogged the single mirror in the small dressing rooms they all used. “Diane always had a temper,” said Mary Wilson, “and while some people might have seen her actions as the result of conniving, her behavior was actually more like that of a spoiled brat. Once she made up her mind about something, there was no reasoning with her…. Diane would fight with anyone, and often she would take a minor issue and keep on it until you reacted.

My Father Comes Home From Work" My father comes home from work sweating through layers of bleached cotton t-shirts sweating through his wool plaid shirt. He kisses my mother starching our school dresses at the ironing board, swings his metal lunchbox onto the formica kitchen table rattling the remnants of the lunch she packed that morning before daylight: crumbs of baloney sandwiches, empty metal thermos of coffee, cores of hard red apples that fueled his body through the packing and unpacking of sides of beef into the walk-in refrigerators at James Allen and Sons Meat Packers. He is twenty-six. Duty propels him each day through the dark to Butcher Town where steers walk streets from pen to slaughterhouse. He whispers Jesus Christ to no one in particular. We hear him-- me, my sister Linda, my baby brother Willy, and Mercedes la cubana’s daughter who my mother babysits. When he comes home we have to be quiet. He comes into the dark living room. Dick Clark’s American Bandstand lights my father’s face white and unlined like a movie star’s. His black hair is combed into a wavy pompadour. He sinks into the couch, takes off work boots thick damp socks, rises to carry them to the porch. Leaving the room he jerks his chin toward the teen gyrations on the screen, says, I guess it beats carrying a brown bag. He pauses, for a moment to watch.

Michael J. Bealey was a busy man. His PA had rung to say that drinks at Soho House would no longer work but could I meet him for lunch at twelve thirty? Lunch turned out to be a sandwich and a cup of coffee at a Prêt just around the corner from his flat on the King’s Road, but that was fine by me. I wasn’t sure if Michael would have had enough conversation for a two-course meal. He had always been a man of few words, despite having published millions of them. The “J.” on his business card was important to him, by the way. It was said that he had known both Arthur C. Clarke and Philip K. Dick and had adapted his own name as a sort of tribute to them both. He was well known as an expert on their work and had written long articles that had been published in Constellations (which he had also edited at Gollancz) and Strange Horizons. He was already there when I arrived, scrolling through a typescript on his iPad.

I get that--but why replace him with this guy? I mean, Dick Clark did American Bandstand. All this guy's done is deny that he's gay.

Use your dick, don’t be one.

Clarke, the architect of those policies, stayed on in the White House and retained his title of National Coordinator for Security, Infrastructure Protection, and Counterterrorism. But, it was clear, Bush didn’t care about any of those issues, nor did Vice President Dick Cheney or the national security adviser, Condoleezza Rice.

Bandstand dancers attempt, in vain, to get a boogie going to Frankie Laine's Western-themed "Rango.

Clark Foreman proposed a Detroit development, the Sojourner Truth Homes, for African Americans. The project was in the district of Democratic Congressman Rudolph Tenerowicz, who persuaded his colleagues that funding for the agency should be cut off unless Foreman was fired and the Sojourner Truth units were assigned only to whites. The director of the Federal Housing Administration supported Tenerowicz, stating that the presence of African Americans in the area would threaten property values of nearby residents. Foreman was forced to resign. The Federal Works Agency then proposed a different project for African Americans on a plot that the Detroit Housing Commission recommended, in an industrial area deemed unsuitable for whites. It soon became apparent that this site, too, would provoke protests because it was not far enough away from a white neighborhood. First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt protested to the president. The FWA again reversed course and assigned African Americans to the Sojourner Truth project. Whites in the neighborhood rioted, leading to one hundred arrests (all but three were African Americans) and thirty-eight hospitalizations (all but five were African Americans). Following the war, Detroit's politicians moblized white voters by stirring up fear of integration in public housing. Mayor Edward Jeffries's successful 1945 reelection campaign warned that projects with African Americans could be located in white neighborhoods if his opponent, Dick Frankensteen, won. Jeffries's literature proclaimed, 'Mayor Jeffries Is Against Mixed Housing.

This is all your fault,” he growled against my ear, then kissed and nibbled his way along my shoulder as he spread my legs apart. I could feel his dick against me as he slid a hand from my stomach to my breast, pinching and tugging my nipple before he traveled higher, gripping my neck with the lightest of pressure.

What was I to do, after sailing the seven seas now that we moved to 33 Van Wart Avenue, on the Scarsdale line of White Plains, NY. Like they say, money doesn’t grow on trees, so it was up to me to find a job. The economy wasn’t all that great and the best I could do was to find a commission job selling home fire detection units. One of the senior salesmen took me under his wing and showed me the ropes. The most important part of the pitch was to emphasize the importance of the fire detection unit and how, after declining our product a family had a fire in their home. The hapless husband was found stretched across the bed where he obviously died attempting to reach the telephone, while his family succumbed to the super-heated poisonous gasses and raging flames. It all could have been prevented if only they would have bought the fire detection unit when it was offered. I hated cold calling and selling something to people that they couldn’t afford was not in my nature. I wasn’t like my brother who could lure a hungry dog off the back of a meat wagon! It wasn’t that I didn’t try, because the more often I told the story the worse it got! I could just tell that the people I talked to knew that I was full of shXt and all I wanted to do was get out of there, although one of the sales rules was that you stayed until the people invited you to leave at least three times. For every rebuttal I had an answer and for every financial problem I had a solution, to put them even further into debt. In the end I would come home with my tail between my legs and with Ursula, watched the midnight horror show with John Zacherle. Dick Clark, a friend, gave Zacherle his nickname, "The Cool Ghoul," and for us it was television at it’s very best in the 1960’s.

At that point, both Dick Clarke from State and Richard Haass from the White House looked up from their note taking, staring across the table at each other in shock. Both of them students of military history, they knew what it meant when an army went silent.

Titled by year, Good News of 1939, 1940 became Maxwell House Coffee Time to begin the 1940–41 season, though the Good News title was still used for a few broadcasts. Maxwell House Coffee. CAST: Hosts: James Stewart, 1937; Robert Taylor, early to mid-1938; Robert Young, beginning in fall 1938; various hosts, 1939–40; Dick Powell, ca. 1940. Frank Morgan, resident comic. Fanny Brice as Baby Snooks beginning Dec. 23, 1937. Hanley Stafford as Daddy. Also many MGM film stars including Judy Garland, Joan Crawford, Mickey Rooney, Alice Faye, Spencer Tracy, Lionel Barrymore, Clark Gable,