Question: What is the name of the German chancellor?

Answer: Angela Merkel

“It was now or never,” he said. “So I decided to go before the window of opportunity closes.” Hungary decided to shut its border with Croatia after it said it was disappointed at the outcome of a meeting of European Union leaders to discuss the migrant crisis. That ended with the outline of an agreement for Turkey, designed to encourage more migrants to remain there, rather than traveling on to western Europe. <hl> The German chancellor, Angela Merkel , is expected to hold further talks on Sunday to try to reach a deal with Turkey’s leaders, Prime Minister Ahmet Davutoglu and President Recep Tayyip Erdogan. <hl>

“It was now or never,” he said. “So I decided to go before the window of opportunity closes.” Hungary decided to shut its border with Croatia after it said it was disappointed at the outcome of a meeting of European Union leaders to discuss the migrant crisis. That ended with the outline of an agreement for Turkey, designed to encourage more migrants to remain there, rather than traveling on to western Europe. The German chancellor, <hl> Angela Merkel <hl>, is expected to hold further talks on Sunday to try to reach a deal with Turkey’s leaders, Prime Minister Ahmet Davutoglu and President Recep Tayyip Erdogan.

The German chancellor, <hl> Angela Merkel <hl> , is expected to hold further talks on Sunday to try to reach a deal with Turkey’s leaders, Prime Minister Ahmet Davutoglu and President Recep Tayyip Erdogan.


Question: What is the name of Turkey's Prime Minister?

“It was now or never,” he said. “So I decided to go before the window of opportunity closes.” Hungary decided to shut its border with Croatia after it said it was disappointed at the outcome of a meeting of European Union leaders to discuss the migrant crisis. That ended with the outline of an agreement for Turkey, designed to encourage more migrants to remain there, rather than traveling on to western Europe. The German chancellor, Angela Merkel, is expected to hold further talks on Sunday to try to reach a deal with Turkey’s leaders, Prime Minister Ahmet Davutoglu and President Recep Tayyip Erdogan.

Answer: Ahmet Davutoglu

“It was now or never,” he said. “So I decided to go before the window of opportunity closes.” Hungary decided to shut its border with Croatia after it said it was disappointed at the outcome of a meeting of European Union leaders to discuss the migrant crisis. That ended with the outline of an agreement for Turkey, designed to encourage more migrants to remain there, rather than traveling on to western Europe. <hl> The German chancellor, Angela Merkel, is expected to hold further talks on Sunday to try to reach a deal with Turkey’s leaders, Prime Minister Ahmet Davutoglu and President Recep Tayyip Erdogan. <hl>

“It was now or never,” he said. “So I decided to go before the window of opportunity closes.” Hungary decided to shut its border with Croatia after it said it was disappointed at the outcome of a meeting of European Union leaders to discuss the migrant crisis. That ended with the outline of an agreement for Turkey, designed to encourage more migrants to remain there, rather than traveling on to western Europe. The German chancellor, Angela Merkel, is expected to hold further talks on Sunday to try to reach a deal with Turkey’s leaders, Prime Minister <hl> Ahmet Davutoglu <hl> and President Recep Tayyip Erdogan.


Question: When is Merkel expected to hold further talks to reach a deal with Turkey's leaders?

Answer: Sunday

“It was now or never,” he said. “So I decided to go before the window of opportunity closes.” Hungary decided to shut its border with Croatia after it said it was disappointed at the outcome of a meeting of European Union leaders to discuss the migrant crisis. That ended with the outline of an agreement for Turkey, designed to encourage more migrants to remain there, rather than traveling on to western Europe. <hl> The German chancellor, Angela Merkel, is expected to hold further talks on Sunday to try to reach a deal with Turkey’s leaders, Prime Minister Ahmet Davutoglu and President Recep Tayyip Erdogan. <hl>

“It was now or never,” he said. “So I decided to go before the window of opportunity closes.” Hungary decided to shut its border with Croatia after it said it was disappointed at the outcome of a meeting of European Union leaders to discuss the migrant crisis. That ended with the outline of an agreement for Turkey, designed to encourage more migrants to remain there, rather than traveling on to western Europe. The German chancellor, Angela Merkel, is expected to hold further talks on <hl> Sunday <hl> to try to reach a deal with Turkey’s leaders, Prime Minister Ahmet Davutoglu and President Recep Tayyip Erdogan.


Question: who were the ones who lead ?

“But there was an acceptance and a respect between us,” Dr. Fahs said. “Every woman there was respected and taught to have strong opinions. I spent my junior year in Paris, and came back to a campus that was up in arms about the invasion of Cambodia. The Princeton boys came down to lead us, but we were Sweet Briar women and we had learned to be leaders. We stayed in charge.” The Sweet Briar finishing-school moniker hit her only once, when she was at graduate school back in Michigan, where she earned a doctorate in health management and policy. “What were you doing at a place like Sweet Briar?” her adviser asked. By the late 1960s, colleges and universities across the country were struggling to remake themselves, roiled by social revolution, the civil rights and antiwar movements and the nascent feminist advances. In the fall of 1967, Dr. Fah’s classmate Michela English arrived in Lynchburg wearing the uniform of young women everywhere: Pappagallo shoes, a Villager dress and a circle pin.

Answer: The Princeton boys

“But there was an acceptance and a respect between us,” Dr. Fahs said. “Every woman there was respected and taught to have strong opinions. I spent my junior year in Paris, and came back to a campus that was up in arms about the invasion of Cambodia. <hl> The Princeton boys came down to lead us, but we were Sweet Briar women and we had learned to be leaders. <hl> We stayed in charge.” The Sweet Briar finishing-school moniker hit her only once, when she was at graduate school back in Michigan, where she earned a doctorate in health management and policy. “What were you doing at a place like Sweet Briar?” her adviser asked. By the late 1960s, colleges and universities across the country were struggling to remake themselves, roiled by social revolution, the civil rights and antiwar movements and the nascent feminist advances. In the fall of 1967, Dr. Fah’s classmate Michela English arrived in Lynchburg wearing the uniform of young women everywhere: Pappagallo shoes, a Villager dress and a circle pin.

“But there was an acceptance and a respect between us,” Dr. Fahs said. “Every woman there was respected and taught to have strong opinions. I spent my junior year in Paris, and came back to a campus that was up in arms about the invasion of Cambodia. <hl> The Princeton boys <hl> came down to lead us, but we were Sweet Briar women and we had learned to be leaders. We stayed in charge.” The Sweet Briar finishing-school moniker hit her only once, when she was at graduate school back in Michigan, where she earned a doctorate in health management and policy. “What were you doing at a place like Sweet Briar?” her adviser asked. By the late 1960s, colleges and universities across the country were struggling to remake themselves, roiled by social revolution, the civil rights and antiwar movements and the nascent feminist advances. In the fall of 1967, Dr. Fah’s classmate Michela English arrived in Lynchburg wearing the uniform of young women everywhere: Pappagallo shoes, a Villager dress and a circle pin.


Question: where DR. Fah spent her junior year ?

Answer: I spent my junior year in Paris

“But there was an acceptance and a respect between us,” Dr. Fahs said. “Every woman there was respected and taught to have strong opinions. <hl> I spent my junior year in Paris , and came back to a campus that was up in arms about the invasion of Cambodia. <hl> The Princeton boys came down to lead us, but we were Sweet Briar women and we had learned to be leaders. We stayed in charge.” The Sweet Briar finishing-school moniker hit her only once, when she was at graduate school back in Michigan, where she earned a doctorate in health management and policy. “What were you doing at a place like Sweet Briar?” her adviser asked. By the late 1960s, colleges and universities across the country were struggling to remake themselves, roiled by social revolution, the civil rights and antiwar movements and the nascent feminist advances. In the fall of 1967, Dr. Fah’s classmate Michela English arrived in Lynchburg wearing the uniform of young women everywhere: Pappagallo shoes, a Villager dress and a circle pin.

“But there was an acceptance and a respect between us,” Dr. Fahs said. “Every woman there was respected and taught to have strong opinions. <hl> I spent my junior year in Paris <hl>, and came back to a campus that was up in arms about the invasion of Cambodia. The Princeton boys came down to lead us, but we were Sweet Briar women and we had learned to be leaders. We stayed in charge.” The Sweet Briar finishing-school moniker hit her only once, when she was at graduate school back in Michigan, where she earned a doctorate in health management and policy. “What were you doing at a place like Sweet Briar?” her adviser asked. By the late 1960s, colleges and universities across the country were struggling to remake themselves, roiled by social revolution, the civil rights and antiwar movements and the nascent feminist advances. In the fall of 1967, Dr. Fah’s classmate Michela English arrived in Lynchburg wearing the uniform of young women everywhere: Pappagallo shoes, a Villager dress and a circle pin.

<hl> I spent my junior year in Paris <hl> , and came back to a campus that was up in arms about the invasion of Cambodia.


Question: in what year did Dr. Fah arrive at Lynchburg ?

Answer: In the fall of 1967

“But there was an acceptance and a respect between us,” Dr. Fahs said. “Every woman there was respected and taught to have strong opinions. I spent my junior year in Paris, and came back to a campus that was up in arms about the invasion of Cambodia. The Princeton boys came down to lead us, but we were Sweet Briar women and we had learned to be leaders. We stayed in charge.” The Sweet Briar finishing-school moniker hit her only once, when she was at graduate school back in Michigan, where she earned a doctorate in health management and policy. “What were you doing at a place like Sweet Briar?” her adviser asked. By the late 1960s, colleges and universities across the country were struggling to remake themselves, roiled by social revolution, the civil rights and antiwar movements and the nascent feminist advances. <hl> In the fall of 1967 , Dr. Fah’s classmate Michela English arrived in Lynchburg wearing the uniform of young women everywhere: Pappagallo shoes, a Villager dress and a circle pin. <hl>

“But there was an acceptance and a respect between us,” Dr. Fahs said. “Every woman there was respected and taught to have strong opinions. I spent my junior year in Paris, and came back to a campus that was up in arms about the invasion of Cambodia. The Princeton boys came down to lead us, but we were Sweet Briar women and we had learned to be leaders. We stayed in charge.” The Sweet Briar finishing-school moniker hit her only once, when she was at graduate school back in Michigan, where she earned a doctorate in health management and policy. “What were you doing at a place like Sweet Briar?” her adviser asked. By the late 1960s, colleges and universities across the country were struggling to remake themselves, roiled by social revolution, the civil rights and antiwar movements and the nascent feminist advances. <hl> In the fall of 1967 <hl>, Dr. Fah’s classmate Michela English arrived in Lynchburg wearing the uniform of young women everywhere: Pappagallo shoes, a Villager dress and a circle pin.

<hl> In the fall of 1967 <hl> , Dr. Fah’s classmate Michela English arrived in Lynchburg wearing the uniform of young women everywhere: Pappagallo shoes, a Villager dress and a circle pin.


Question: what dr. fah was wearing when she arrived  at Lynchburg ?

Answer: Pappagallo shoes, a Villager dress and a circle pin.

“But there was an acceptance and a respect between us,” Dr. Fahs said. “Every woman there was respected and taught to have strong opinions. I spent my junior year in Paris, and came back to a campus that was up in arms about the invasion of Cambodia. The Princeton boys came down to lead us, but we were Sweet Briar women and we had learned to be leaders. We stayed in charge.” The Sweet Briar finishing-school moniker hit her only once, when she was at graduate school back in Michigan, where she earned a doctorate in health management and policy. “What were you doing at a place like Sweet Briar?” her adviser asked. By the late 1960s, colleges and universities across the country were struggling to remake themselves, roiled by social revolution, the civil rights and antiwar movements and the nascent feminist advances. <hl> In the fall of 1967, Dr. Fah’s classmate Michela English arrived in Lynchburg wearing the uniform of young women everywhere: Pappagallo shoes, a Villager dress and a circle pin. <hl>

“But there was an acceptance and a respect between us,” Dr. Fahs said. “Every woman there was respected and taught to have strong opinions. I spent my junior year in Paris, and came back to a campus that was up in arms about the invasion of Cambodia. The Princeton boys came down to lead us, but we were Sweet Briar women and we had learned to be leaders. We stayed in charge.” The Sweet Briar finishing-school moniker hit her only once, when she was at graduate school back in Michigan, where she earned a doctorate in health management and policy. “What were you doing at a place like Sweet Briar?” her adviser asked. By the late 1960s, colleges and universities across the country were struggling to remake themselves, roiled by social revolution, the civil rights and antiwar movements and the nascent feminist advances. In the fall of 1967, Dr. Fah’s classmate Michela English arrived in Lynchburg wearing the uniform of young women everywhere: <hl> Pappagallo shoes, a Villager dress and a circle pin. <hl>


Question: where she earned a doctorate ?

Answer: in Michigan

“But there was an acceptance and a respect between us,” Dr. Fahs said. “Every woman there was respected and taught to have strong opinions. I spent my junior year in Paris, and came back to a campus that was up in arms about the invasion of Cambodia. The Princeton boys came down to lead us, but we were Sweet Briar women and we had learned to be leaders. We stayed in charge.” <hl> The Sweet Briar finishing-school moniker hit her only once, when she was at graduate school back in Michigan , where she earned a doctorate in health management and policy. <hl> “What were you doing at a place like Sweet Briar?” her adviser asked. By the late 1960s, colleges and universities across the country were struggling to remake themselves, roiled by social revolution, the civil rights and antiwar movements and the nascent feminist advances. In the fall of 1967, Dr. Fah’s classmate Michela English arrived in Lynchburg wearing the uniform of young women everywhere: Pappagallo shoes, a Villager dress and a circle pin.

“But there was an acceptance and a respect between us,” Dr. Fahs said. “Every woman there was respected and taught to have strong opinions. I spent my junior year in Paris, and came back to a campus that was up in arms about the invasion of Cambodia. The Princeton boys came down to lead us, but we were Sweet Briar women and we had learned to be leaders. We stayed in charge.” The Sweet Briar finishing-school moniker hit her only once, when she was at graduate school back <hl> in Michigan <hl>, where she earned a doctorate in health management and policy. “What were you doing at a place like Sweet Briar?” her adviser asked. By the late 1960s, colleges and universities across the country were struggling to remake themselves, roiled by social revolution, the civil rights and antiwar movements and the nascent feminist advances. In the fall of 1967, Dr. Fah’s classmate Michela English arrived in Lynchburg wearing the uniform of young women everywhere: Pappagallo shoes, a Villager dress and a circle pin.

The Sweet Briar finishing-school moniker hit her only once, when she was at graduate school back <hl> in Michigan <hl> , where she earned a doctorate in health management and policy.


Question: how old was Ms English ?

“So on the one hand,” said Ms. English, 65, “you felt welcomed into a family. The flip side was you couldn’t be invisible. Everyone was forced to engage.” Which meant quickly developing critical-thinking skills and debate techniques, and taking leadership roles in student government. Ms. English first thought she might go to law school, but ended up at the Yale School of Management, after which she went to work for the consulting firm McKinsey & Company. Now, she is president and chief executive of Fight for Children, a nonprofit in Washington.

Answer: 65

<hl> “So on the one hand,” said Ms. English, 65 , “you felt welcomed into a family. <hl> The flip side was you couldn’t be invisible. Everyone was forced to engage.” Which meant quickly developing critical-thinking skills and debate techniques, and taking leadership roles in student government. Ms. English first thought she might go to law school, but ended up at the Yale School of Management, after which she went to work for the consulting firm McKinsey & Company. Now, she is president and chief executive of Fight for Children, a nonprofit in Washington.

“So on the one hand,” said Ms. English, <hl> 65 <hl>, “you felt welcomed into a family. The flip side was you couldn’t be invisible. Everyone was forced to engage.” Which meant quickly developing critical-thinking skills and debate techniques, and taking leadership roles in student government. Ms. English first thought she might go to law school, but ended up at the Yale School of Management, after which she went to work for the consulting firm McKinsey & Company. Now, she is president and chief executive of Fight for Children, a nonprofit in Washington.

“So on the one hand,” said Ms. English, <hl> 65 <hl> , “you felt welcomed into a family.


Question: what was the first thought of Ms English ?

Answer: quickly developing critical-thinking skills and debate techniques,

“So on the one hand,” said Ms. English, 65, “you felt welcomed into a family. The flip side was you couldn’t be invisible. Everyone was forced to engage.” <hl> Which meant quickly developing critical-thinking skills and debate techniques, and taking leadership roles in student government. <hl> Ms. English first thought she might go to law school, but ended up at the Yale School of Management, after which she went to work for the consulting firm McKinsey & Company. Now, she is president and chief executive of Fight for Children, a nonprofit in Washington.

“So on the one hand,” said Ms. English, 65, “you felt welcomed into a family. The flip side was you couldn’t be invisible. Everyone was forced to engage.” Which meant <hl> quickly developing critical-thinking skills and debate techniques, <hl> and taking leadership roles in student government. Ms. English first thought she might go to law school, but ended up at the Yale School of Management, after which she went to work for the consulting firm McKinsey & Company. Now, she is president and chief executive of Fight for Children, a nonprofit in Washington.


Question: where she ended up going for school  ?

Answer: ended up at the Yale School of Management

“So on the one hand,” said Ms. English, 65, “you felt welcomed into a family. The flip side was you couldn’t be invisible. Everyone was forced to engage.” Which meant quickly developing critical-thinking skills and debate techniques, and taking leadership roles in student government. <hl> Ms. English first thought she might go to law school, but ended up at the Yale School of Management , after which she went to work for the consulting firm McKinsey & Company. <hl> Now, she is president and chief executive of Fight for Children, a nonprofit in Washington.

“So on the one hand,” said Ms. English, 65, “you felt welcomed into a family. The flip side was you couldn’t be invisible. Everyone was forced to engage.” Which meant quickly developing critical-thinking skills and debate techniques, and taking leadership roles in student government. Ms. English first thought she might go to law school, but <hl> ended up at the Yale School of Management <hl>, after which she went to work for the consulting firm McKinsey & Company. Now, she is president and chief executive of Fight for Children, a nonprofit in Washington.

Ms. English first thought she might go to law school, but <hl> ended up at the Yale School of Management <hl> , after which she went to work for the consulting firm McKinsey & Company.


Question: after going to management school where she went ?

Answer: she is president and chief executive of Fight for Children

“So on the one hand,” said Ms. English, 65, “you felt welcomed into a family. The flip side was you couldn’t be invisible. Everyone was forced to engage.” Which meant quickly developing critical-thinking skills and debate techniques, and taking leadership roles in student government. Ms. English first thought she might go to law school, but ended up at the Yale School of Management, after which she went to work for the consulting firm McKinsey & Company. <hl> Now, she is president and chief executive of Fight for Children , a nonprofit in Washington. <hl>

“So on the one hand,” said Ms. English, 65, “you felt welcomed into a family. The flip side was you couldn’t be invisible. Everyone was forced to engage.” Which meant quickly developing critical-thinking skills and debate techniques, and taking leadership roles in student government. Ms. English first thought she might go to law school, but ended up at the Yale School of Management, after which she went to work for the consulting firm McKinsey & Company. Now, <hl> she is president and chief executive of Fight for Children <hl>, a nonprofit in Washington.

Now, <hl> she is president and chief executive of Fight for Children <hl> , a nonprofit in Washington.


Question: what was a  shock for my parents ?

“I was filled with social reform zeal,” she said. “It was a big thing for my parents, who had not gone to college, that I was going to college. It was really a shock to them, the change between how I was when I went in and when I came out. So we had some rough years.” So did Sweet Briar’s president at the time, Anne Gary Pannell, who Ms. English said was so worn out dealing with the strife on campus that she retired when the class of 1971 graduated.

Answer: that I was going to college

“I was filled with social reform zeal,” she said. <hl> “It was a big thing for my parents, who had not gone to college, that I was going to college . <hl> It was really a shock to them, the change between how I was when I went in and when I came out. So we had some rough years.” So did Sweet Briar’s president at the time, Anne Gary Pannell, who Ms. English said was so worn out dealing with the strife on campus that she retired when the class of 1971 graduated.

“I was filled with social reform zeal,” she said. “It was a big thing for my parents, who had not gone to college, <hl> that I was going to college <hl>. It was really a shock to them, the change between how I was when I went in and when I came out. So we had some rough years.” So did Sweet Briar’s president at the time, Anne Gary Pannell, who Ms. English said was so worn out dealing with the strife on campus that she retired when the class of 1971 graduated.

“It was a big thing for my parents, who had not gone to college, <hl> that I was going to college <hl> .


Question: when  anne gary pannell retired ?

Answer: when the class of 1971 graduated.

“I was filled with social reform zeal,” she said. “It was a big thing for my parents, who had not gone to college, that I was going to college. It was really a shock to them, the change between how I was when I went in and when I came out. So we had some rough years.” <hl> So did Sweet Briar’s president at the time, Anne Gary Pannell, who Ms. English said was so worn out dealing with the strife on campus that she retired when the class of 1971 graduated. <hl>

“I was filled with social reform zeal,” she said. “It was a big thing for my parents, who had not gone to college, that I was going to college. It was really a shock to them, the change between how I was when I went in and when I came out. So we had some rough years.” So did Sweet Briar’s president at the time, Anne Gary Pannell, who Ms. English said was so worn out dealing with the strife on campus that she retired <hl> when the class of 1971 graduated. <hl>


Question: who was the president of sweet briar ?

Answer: Anne Gary Pannell

“I was filled with social reform zeal,” she said. “It was a big thing for my parents, who had not gone to college, that I was going to college. It was really a shock to them, the change between how I was when I went in and when I came out. So we had some rough years.” <hl> So did Sweet Briar’s president at the time, Anne Gary Pannell , who Ms. English said was so worn out dealing with the strife on campus that she retired when the class of 1971 graduated. <hl>

“I was filled with social reform zeal,” she said. “It was a big thing for my parents, who had not gone to college, that I was going to college. It was really a shock to them, the change between how I was when I went in and when I came out. So we had some rough years.” So did Sweet Briar’s president at the time, <hl> Anne Gary Pannell <hl>, who Ms. English said was so worn out dealing with the strife on campus that she retired when the class of 1971 graduated.

So did Sweet Briar’s president at the time, <hl> Anne Gary Pannell <hl> , who Ms. English said was so worn out dealing with the strife on campus that she retired when the class of 1971 graduated.


Question: who said anne gary pannell was worn out dealing with the strife on campus ?

Answer: Ms. English

“I was filled with social reform zeal,” she said. “It was a big thing for my parents, who had not gone to college, that I was going to college. It was really a shock to them, the change between how I was when I went in and when I came out. So we had some rough years.” So did Sweet Briar’s president at the time, Anne Gary Pannell, <hl> who Ms. English said was so worn out dealing with the strife on campus that she retired when the class of 1971 graduated. <hl>

“I was filled with social reform zeal,” she said. “It was a big thing for my parents, who had not gone to college, that I was going to college. It was really a shock to them, the change between how I was when I went in and when I came out. So we had some rough years.” So did Sweet Briar’s president at the time, Anne Gary Pannell, who <hl> Ms. English <hl> said was so worn out dealing with the strife on campus that she retired when the class of 1971 graduated.


Question: where Mary morris gamble traveled ?

Mary Morris Gamble Booth, class of ’50, traveled to Paris with Sweet Briar’s first junior-year program, which drew students of both sexes from across the country, including, that year, 15 Yale men. It was 1948 when they set sail, and Ms. Booth recounted how one of the Yale men kept trying to sneak up to the first-class deck from third class. “He was wearing white bucks and the British crew did not approve of white buck shoes, so he gave himself away,” she recalled. She said she was not quite paying attention when Secretary of State George Marshall articulated his Marshall Plan at Reid Hall, Sweet Briar’s Left Bank headquarters. Nevertheless, she ended up working for the program in Washington. “This year, I’m chairman of our 65th reunion,” Ms. Booth, 87, said sadly. “When they asked me last year, I said: ‘Sure, how hard can that be? Last year I think four people showed up for their 65th.’ Of course, this year is going to be a mob scene. It’s sort of an alpha and omega. Our reunion, and the last graduation.”

Answer: traveled to Paris

<hl> Mary Morris Gamble Booth, class of ’50, traveled to Paris with Sweet Briar’s first junior-year program, which drew students of both sexes from across the country, including, that year, 15 Yale men. <hl> It was 1948 when they set sail, and Ms. Booth recounted how one of the Yale men kept trying to sneak up to the first-class deck from third class. “He was wearing white bucks and the British crew did not approve of white buck shoes, so he gave himself away,” she recalled. She said she was not quite paying attention when Secretary of State George Marshall articulated his Marshall Plan at Reid Hall, Sweet Briar’s Left Bank headquarters. Nevertheless, she ended up working for the program in Washington. “This year, I’m chairman of our 65th reunion,” Ms. Booth, 87, said sadly. “When they asked me last year, I said: ‘Sure, how hard can that be? Last year I think four people showed up for their 65th.’ Of course, this year is going to be a mob scene. It’s sort of an alpha and omega. Our reunion, and the last graduation.”

Mary Morris Gamble Booth, class of ’50, <hl> traveled to Paris <hl> with Sweet Briar’s first junior-year program, which drew students of both sexes from across the country, including, that year, 15 Yale men. It was 1948 when they set sail, and Ms. Booth recounted how one of the Yale men kept trying to sneak up to the first-class deck from third class. “He was wearing white bucks and the British crew did not approve of white buck shoes, so he gave himself away,” she recalled. She said she was not quite paying attention when Secretary of State George Marshall articulated his Marshall Plan at Reid Hall, Sweet Briar’s Left Bank headquarters. Nevertheless, she ended up working for the program in Washington. “This year, I’m chairman of our 65th reunion,” Ms. Booth, 87, said sadly. “When they asked me last year, I said: ‘Sure, how hard can that be? Last year I think four people showed up for their 65th.’ Of course, this year is going to be a mob scene. It’s sort of an alpha and omega. Our reunion, and the last graduation.”


Question: who did not approve of the white buck shoes ?

Answer: the British crew

Mary Morris Gamble Booth, class of ’50, traveled to Paris with Sweet Briar’s first junior-year program, which drew students of both sexes from across the country, including, that year, 15 Yale men. It was 1948 when they set sail, and Ms. Booth recounted how one of the Yale men kept trying to sneak up to the first-class deck from third class. <hl> “He was wearing white bucks and the British crew did not approve of white buck shoes, so he gave himself away,” she recalled. <hl> She said she was not quite paying attention when Secretary of State George Marshall articulated his Marshall Plan at Reid Hall, Sweet Briar’s Left Bank headquarters. Nevertheless, she ended up working for the program in Washington. “This year, I’m chairman of our 65th reunion,” Ms. Booth, 87, said sadly. “When they asked me last year, I said: ‘Sure, how hard can that be? Last year I think four people showed up for their 65th.’ Of course, this year is going to be a mob scene. It’s sort of an alpha and omega. Our reunion, and the last graduation.”

Mary Morris Gamble Booth, class of ’50, traveled to Paris with Sweet Briar’s first junior-year program, which drew students of both sexes from across the country, including, that year, 15 Yale men. It was 1948 when they set sail, and Ms. Booth recounted how one of the Yale men kept trying to sneak up to the first-class deck from third class. “He was wearing white bucks and <hl> the British crew <hl> did not approve of white buck shoes, so he gave himself away,” she recalled. She said she was not quite paying attention when Secretary of State George Marshall articulated his Marshall Plan at Reid Hall, Sweet Briar’s Left Bank headquarters. Nevertheless, she ended up working for the program in Washington. “This year, I’m chairman of our 65th reunion,” Ms. Booth, 87, said sadly. “When they asked me last year, I said: ‘Sure, how hard can that be? Last year I think four people showed up for their 65th.’ Of course, this year is going to be a mob scene. It’s sort of an alpha and omega. Our reunion, and the last graduation.”


Question: when they set sail?

Answer: 1948

Mary Morris Gamble Booth, class of ’50, traveled to Paris with Sweet Briar’s first junior-year program, which drew students of both sexes from across the country, including, that year, 15 Yale men. <hl> It was 1948 when they set sail, and Ms. Booth recounted how one of the Yale men kept trying to sneak up to the first-class deck from third class. <hl> “He was wearing white bucks and the British crew did not approve of white buck shoes, so he gave himself away,” she recalled. She said she was not quite paying attention when Secretary of State George Marshall articulated his Marshall Plan at Reid Hall, Sweet Briar’s Left Bank headquarters. Nevertheless, she ended up working for the program in Washington. “This year, I’m chairman of our 65th reunion,” Ms. Booth, 87, said sadly. “When they asked me last year, I said: ‘Sure, how hard can that be? Last year I think four people showed up for their 65th.’ Of course, this year is going to be a mob scene. It’s sort of an alpha and omega. Our reunion, and the last graduation.”

Mary Morris Gamble Booth, class of ’50, traveled to Paris with Sweet Briar’s first junior-year program, which drew students of both sexes from across the country, including, that year, 15 Yale men. It was <hl> 1948 <hl> when they set sail, and Ms. Booth recounted how one of the Yale men kept trying to sneak up to the first-class deck from third class. “He was wearing white bucks and the British crew did not approve of white buck shoes, so he gave himself away,” she recalled. She said she was not quite paying attention when Secretary of State George Marshall articulated his Marshall Plan at Reid Hall, Sweet Briar’s Left Bank headquarters. Nevertheless, she ended up working for the program in Washington. “This year, I’m chairman of our 65th reunion,” Ms. Booth, 87, said sadly. “When they asked me last year, I said: ‘Sure, how hard can that be? Last year I think four people showed up for their 65th.’ Of course, this year is going to be a mob scene. It’s sort of an alpha and omega. Our reunion, and the last graduation.”


Question: who wasnt paying attention when secretary of state george marshall articulated his marshall plan ?

Answer: Ms. Booth

Mary Morris Gamble Booth, class of ’50, traveled to Paris with Sweet Briar’s first junior-year program, which drew students of both sexes from across the country, including, that year, 15 Yale men. <hl> It was 1948 when they set sail, and Ms. Booth recounted how one of the Yale men kept trying to sneak up to the first-class deck from third class. <hl> “He was wearing white bucks and the British crew did not approve of white buck shoes, so he gave himself away,” she recalled. She said she was not quite paying attention when Secretary of State George Marshall articulated his Marshall Plan at Reid Hall, Sweet Briar’s Left Bank headquarters. Nevertheless, she ended up working for the program in Washington. “This year, I’m chairman of our 65th reunion,” Ms. Booth, 87, said sadly. “When they asked me last year, I said: ‘Sure, how hard can that be? Last year I think four people showed up for their 65th.’ Of course, this year is going to be a mob scene. It’s sort of an alpha and omega. Our reunion, and the last graduation.”

Mary Morris Gamble Booth, class of ’50, traveled to Paris with Sweet Briar’s first junior-year program, which drew students of both sexes from across the country, including, that year, 15 Yale men. It was 1948 when they set sail, and <hl> Ms. Booth <hl> recounted how one of the Yale men kept trying to sneak up to the first-class deck from third class. “He was wearing white bucks and the British crew did not approve of white buck shoes, so he gave himself away,” she recalled. She said she was not quite paying attention when Secretary of State George Marshall articulated his Marshall Plan at Reid Hall, Sweet Briar’s Left Bank headquarters. Nevertheless, she ended up working for the program in Washington. “This year, I’m chairman of our 65th reunion,” Ms. Booth, 87, said sadly. “When they asked me last year, I said: ‘Sure, how hard can that be? Last year I think four people showed up for their 65th.’ Of course, this year is going to be a mob scene. It’s sort of an alpha and omega. Our reunion, and the last graduation.”


Question: how old i Ms. booth ?

Answer: 87

Mary Morris Gamble Booth, class of ’50, traveled to Paris with Sweet Briar’s first junior-year program, which drew students of both sexes from across the country, including, that year, 15 Yale men. It was 1948 when they set sail, and Ms. Booth recounted how one of the Yale men kept trying to sneak up to the first-class deck from third class. “He was wearing white bucks and the British crew did not approve of white buck shoes, so he gave himself away,” she recalled. She said she was not quite paying attention when Secretary of State George Marshall articulated his Marshall Plan at Reid Hall, Sweet Briar’s Left Bank headquarters. Nevertheless, she ended up working for the program in Washington. <hl> “This year, I’m chairman of our 65th reunion,” Ms. Booth, 87 , said sadly. <hl> “When they asked me last year, I said: ‘Sure, how hard can that be? Last year I think four people showed up for their 65th.’ Of course, this year is going to be a mob scene. It’s sort of an alpha and omega. Our reunion, and the last graduation.”

Mary Morris Gamble Booth, class of ’50, traveled to Paris with Sweet Briar’s first junior-year program, which drew students of both sexes from across the country, including, that year, 15 Yale men. It was 1948 when they set sail, and Ms. Booth recounted how one of the Yale men kept trying to sneak up to the first-class deck from third class. “He was wearing white bucks and the British crew did not approve of white buck shoes, so he gave himself away,” she recalled. She said she was not quite paying attention when Secretary of State George Marshall articulated his Marshall Plan at Reid Hall, Sweet Briar’s Left Bank headquarters. Nevertheless, she ended up working for the program in Washington. “This year, I’m chairman of our 65th reunion,” Ms. Booth, <hl> 87 <hl>, said sadly. “When they asked me last year, I said: ‘Sure, how hard can that be? Last year I think four people showed up for their 65th.’ Of course, this year is going to be a mob scene. It’s sort of an alpha and omega. Our reunion, and the last graduation.”

“This year, I’m chairman of our 65th reunion,” Ms. Booth, <hl> 87 <hl> , said sadly.


Question: where did Dr. Pai go to school?

At first blush, Dr. Pai’s profile and career seem at odds with the stereotype that has long been affixed to midcentury graduates of Sweet Briar: as Southern belles (perhaps accompanied by their horses) polished to a high sheen for careers as wives, mothers and volunteers. Yet the Pink Bubble, as Sweet Briar women have long called their alma mater, has also nurtured generations of feisty professionals, many of them working in the sciences, who attended the school before the era of widespread coeducation at the college level. Since March, when the school’s board suddenly said it would close the college because of dwindling enrollment and strapped finances, a campaign to save it has pursued legal and other actions with increasing gusto and success; last month, the Commonwealth of Virginia sued to keep the college open. Last week, a judge ruled that, for a period of 60 days, the board could not close the school using funds solicited for its operation.. The campaign #Save Sweet Briar has raised $1 million, and another $10 million has been pledged. Against this backdrop, the experiences of Sweet Briar’s postwar graduates, who have been galvanized by the campaign and are reconnecting on Facebook, email and by phone, paint a vivid picture of an era marked by conflicting cultures: one that was still defined by hostess houses, white gloves and the “ring before spring” doctrine that cast women’s colleges as mere finishing schools, and one with a commitment to educating women for roles far from the home.

Answer: Sweet Briar

<hl> At first blush, Dr. Pai’s profile and career seem at odds with the stereotype that has long been affixed to midcentury graduates of Sweet Briar : as Southern belles (perhaps accompanied by their horses) polished to a high sheen for careers as wives, mothers and volunteers. <hl> Yet the Pink Bubble, as Sweet Briar women have long called their alma mater, has also nurtured generations of feisty professionals, many of them working in the sciences, who attended the school before the era of widespread coeducation at the college level. Since March, when the school’s board suddenly said it would close the college because of dwindling enrollment and strapped finances, a campaign to save it has pursued legal and other actions with increasing gusto and success; last month, the Commonwealth of Virginia sued to keep the college open. Last week, a judge ruled that, for a period of 60 days, the board could not close the school using funds solicited for its operation.. The campaign #Save Sweet Briar has raised $1 million, and another $10 million has been pledged. Against this backdrop, the experiences of Sweet Briar’s postwar graduates, who have been galvanized by the campaign and are reconnecting on Facebook, email and by phone, paint a vivid picture of an era marked by conflicting cultures: one that was still defined by hostess houses, white gloves and the “ring before spring” doctrine that cast women’s colleges as mere finishing schools, and one with a commitment to educating women for roles far from the home.

At first blush, Dr. Pai’s profile and career seem at odds with the stereotype that has long been affixed to midcentury graduates of <hl> Sweet Briar <hl>: as Southern belles (perhaps accompanied by their horses) polished to a high sheen for careers as wives, mothers and volunteers. Yet the Pink Bubble, as Sweet Briar women have long called their alma mater, has also nurtured generations of feisty professionals, many of them working in the sciences, who attended the school before the era of widespread coeducation at the college level. Since March, when the school’s board suddenly said it would close the college because of dwindling enrollment and strapped finances, a campaign to save it has pursued legal and other actions with increasing gusto and success; last month, the Commonwealth of Virginia sued to keep the college open. Last week, a judge ruled that, for a period of 60 days, the board could not close the school using funds solicited for its operation.. The campaign #Save Sweet Briar has raised $1 million, and another $10 million has been pledged. Against this backdrop, the experiences of Sweet Briar’s postwar graduates, who have been galvanized by the campaign and are reconnecting on Facebook, email and by phone, paint a vivid picture of an era marked by conflicting cultures: one that was still defined by hostess houses, white gloves and the “ring before spring” doctrine that cast women’s colleges as mere finishing schools, and one with a commitment to educating women for roles far from the home.

At first blush, Dr. Pai’s profile and career seem at odds with the stereotype that has long been affixed to midcentury graduates of <hl> Sweet Briar <hl> : as Southern belles (perhaps accompanied by their horses) polished to a high sheen for careers as wives, mothers and volunteers.


Question: what is the nickname that alumni use for Sweet Briar?

Answer: the Pink Bubble

At first blush, Dr. Pai’s profile and career seem at odds with the stereotype that has long been affixed to midcentury graduates of Sweet Briar: as Southern belles (perhaps accompanied by their horses) polished to a high sheen for careers as wives, mothers and volunteers. <hl> Yet the Pink Bubble , as Sweet Briar women have long called their alma mater, has also nurtured generations of feisty professionals, many of them working in the sciences, who attended the school before the era of widespread coeducation at the college level. <hl> Since March, when the school’s board suddenly said it would close the college because of dwindling enrollment and strapped finances, a campaign to save it has pursued legal and other actions with increasing gusto and success; last month, the Commonwealth of Virginia sued to keep the college open. Last week, a judge ruled that, for a period of 60 days, the board could not close the school using funds solicited for its operation.. The campaign #Save Sweet Briar has raised $1 million, and another $10 million has been pledged. Against this backdrop, the experiences of Sweet Briar’s postwar graduates, who have been galvanized by the campaign and are reconnecting on Facebook, email and by phone, paint a vivid picture of an era marked by conflicting cultures: one that was still defined by hostess houses, white gloves and the “ring before spring” doctrine that cast women’s colleges as mere finishing schools, and one with a commitment to educating women for roles far from the home.

At first blush, Dr. Pai’s profile and career seem at odds with the stereotype that has long been affixed to midcentury graduates of Sweet Briar: as Southern belles (perhaps accompanied by their horses) polished to a high sheen for careers as wives, mothers and volunteers. Yet <hl> the Pink Bubble <hl>, as Sweet Briar women have long called their alma mater, has also nurtured generations of feisty professionals, many of them working in the sciences, who attended the school before the era of widespread coeducation at the college level. Since March, when the school’s board suddenly said it would close the college because of dwindling enrollment and strapped finances, a campaign to save it has pursued legal and other actions with increasing gusto and success; last month, the Commonwealth of Virginia sued to keep the college open. Last week, a judge ruled that, for a period of 60 days, the board could not close the school using funds solicited for its operation.. The campaign #Save Sweet Briar has raised $1 million, and another $10 million has been pledged. Against this backdrop, the experiences of Sweet Briar’s postwar graduates, who have been galvanized by the campaign and are reconnecting on Facebook, email and by phone, paint a vivid picture of an era marked by conflicting cultures: one that was still defined by hostess houses, white gloves and the “ring before spring” doctrine that cast women’s colleges as mere finishing schools, and one with a commitment to educating women for roles far from the home.

Yet <hl> the Pink Bubble <hl> , as Sweet Briar women have long called their alma mater, has also nurtured generations of feisty professionals, many of them working in the sciences, who attended the school before the era of widespread coeducation at the college level.


Question: how much has the Save Sweet Briar campaign brought in so far?

Answer: $1 million

At first blush, Dr. Pai’s profile and career seem at odds with the stereotype that has long been affixed to midcentury graduates of Sweet Briar: as Southern belles (perhaps accompanied by their horses) polished to a high sheen for careers as wives, mothers and volunteers. Yet the Pink Bubble, as Sweet Briar women have long called their alma mater, has also nurtured generations of feisty professionals, many of them working in the sciences, who attended the school before the era of widespread coeducation at the college level. Since March, when the school’s board suddenly said it would close the college because of dwindling enrollment and strapped finances, a campaign to save it has pursued legal and other actions with increasing gusto and success; last month, the Commonwealth of Virginia sued to keep the college open. Last week, a judge ruled that, for a period of 60 days, the board could not close the school using funds solicited for its operation.. <hl> The campaign #Save Sweet Briar has raised $1 million , and another $10 million has been pledged. <hl> Against this backdrop, the experiences of Sweet Briar’s postwar graduates, who have been galvanized by the campaign and are reconnecting on Facebook, email and by phone, paint a vivid picture of an era marked by conflicting cultures: one that was still defined by hostess houses, white gloves and the “ring before spring” doctrine that cast women’s colleges as mere finishing schools, and one with a commitment to educating women for roles far from the home.

At first blush, Dr. Pai’s profile and career seem at odds with the stereotype that has long been affixed to midcentury graduates of Sweet Briar: as Southern belles (perhaps accompanied by their horses) polished to a high sheen for careers as wives, mothers and volunteers. Yet the Pink Bubble, as Sweet Briar women have long called their alma mater, has also nurtured generations of feisty professionals, many of them working in the sciences, who attended the school before the era of widespread coeducation at the college level. Since March, when the school’s board suddenly said it would close the college because of dwindling enrollment and strapped finances, a campaign to save it has pursued legal and other actions with increasing gusto and success; last month, the Commonwealth of Virginia sued to keep the college open. Last week, a judge ruled that, for a period of 60 days, the board could not close the school using funds solicited for its operation.. The campaign #Save Sweet Briar has raised <hl> $1 million <hl>, and another $10 million has been pledged. Against this backdrop, the experiences of Sweet Briar’s postwar graduates, who have been galvanized by the campaign and are reconnecting on Facebook, email and by phone, paint a vivid picture of an era marked by conflicting cultures: one that was still defined by hostess houses, white gloves and the “ring before spring” doctrine that cast women’s colleges as mere finishing schools, and one with a commitment to educating women for roles far from the home.

The campaign #Save Sweet Briar has raised <hl> $1 million <hl> , and another $10 million has been pledged.


Question: how have many of the Sweet Briar graduates gotten back in touch?

Answer: on Facebook, email and by phone

At first blush, Dr. Pai’s profile and career seem at odds with the stereotype that has long been affixed to midcentury graduates of Sweet Briar: as Southern belles (perhaps accompanied by their horses) polished to a high sheen for careers as wives, mothers and volunteers. Yet the Pink Bubble, as Sweet Briar women have long called their alma mater, has also nurtured generations of feisty professionals, many of them working in the sciences, who attended the school before the era of widespread coeducation at the college level. Since March, when the school’s board suddenly said it would close the college because of dwindling enrollment and strapped finances, a campaign to save it has pursued legal and other actions with increasing gusto and success; last month, the Commonwealth of Virginia sued to keep the college open. Last week, a judge ruled that, for a period of 60 days, the board could not close the school using funds solicited for its operation.. The campaign #Save Sweet Briar has raised $1 million, and another $10 million has been pledged. <hl> Against this backdrop, the experiences of Sweet Briar’s postwar graduates, who have been galvanized by the campaign and are reconnecting on Facebook, email and by phone , paint a vivid picture of an era marked by conflicting cultures: one that was still defined by hostess houses, white gloves and the “ring before spring” doctrine that cast women’s colleges as mere finishing schools, and one with a commitment to educating women for roles far from the home. <hl>

At first blush, Dr. Pai’s profile and career seem at odds with the stereotype that has long been affixed to midcentury graduates of Sweet Briar: as Southern belles (perhaps accompanied by their horses) polished to a high sheen for careers as wives, mothers and volunteers. Yet the Pink Bubble, as Sweet Briar women have long called their alma mater, has also nurtured generations of feisty professionals, many of them working in the sciences, who attended the school before the era of widespread coeducation at the college level. Since March, when the school’s board suddenly said it would close the college because of dwindling enrollment and strapped finances, a campaign to save it has pursued legal and other actions with increasing gusto and success; last month, the Commonwealth of Virginia sued to keep the college open. Last week, a judge ruled that, for a period of 60 days, the board could not close the school using funds solicited for its operation.. The campaign #Save Sweet Briar has raised $1 million, and another $10 million has been pledged. Against this backdrop, the experiences of Sweet Briar’s postwar graduates, who have been galvanized by the campaign and are reconnecting <hl> on Facebook, email and by phone <hl>, paint a vivid picture of an era marked by conflicting cultures: one that was still defined by hostess houses, white gloves and the “ring before spring” doctrine that cast women’s colleges as mere finishing schools, and one with a commitment to educating women for roles far from the home.

Against this backdrop, the experiences of Sweet Briar’s postwar graduates, who have been galvanized by the campaign and are reconnecting <hl> on Facebook, email and by phone <hl> , paint a vivid picture of an era marked by conflicting cultures: one that was still defined by hostess houses, white gloves and the “ring before spring” doctrine that cast women’s colleges as mere finishing schools, and one with a commitment to educating women for roles far from the home.


Question: what entity filed suit to prevent the college from closing?

Answer: the Commonwealth of Virginia

At first blush, Dr. Pai’s profile and career seem at odds with the stereotype that has long been affixed to midcentury graduates of Sweet Briar: as Southern belles (perhaps accompanied by their horses) polished to a high sheen for careers as wives, mothers and volunteers. Yet the Pink Bubble, as Sweet Briar women have long called their alma mater, has also nurtured generations of feisty professionals, many of them working in the sciences, who attended the school before the era of widespread coeducation at the college level. <hl> Since March, when the school’s board suddenly said it would close the college because of dwindling enrollment and strapped finances, a campaign to save it has pursued legal and other actions with increasing gusto and success; last month, the Commonwealth of Virginia sued to keep the college open. <hl> Last week, a judge ruled that, for a period of 60 days, the board could not close the school using funds solicited for its operation.. The campaign #Save Sweet Briar has raised $1 million, and another $10 million has been pledged. Against this backdrop, the experiences of Sweet Briar’s postwar graduates, who have been galvanized by the campaign and are reconnecting on Facebook, email and by phone, paint a vivid picture of an era marked by conflicting cultures: one that was still defined by hostess houses, white gloves and the “ring before spring” doctrine that cast women’s colleges as mere finishing schools, and one with a commitment to educating women for roles far from the home.

At first blush, Dr. Pai’s profile and career seem at odds with the stereotype that has long been affixed to midcentury graduates of Sweet Briar: as Southern belles (perhaps accompanied by their horses) polished to a high sheen for careers as wives, mothers and volunteers. Yet the Pink Bubble, as Sweet Briar women have long called their alma mater, has also nurtured generations of feisty professionals, many of them working in the sciences, who attended the school before the era of widespread coeducation at the college level. Since March, when the school’s board suddenly said it would close the college because of dwindling enrollment and strapped finances, a campaign to save it has pursued legal and other actions with increasing gusto and success; last month, <hl> the Commonwealth of Virginia <hl> sued to keep the college open. Last week, a judge ruled that, for a period of 60 days, the board could not close the school using funds solicited for its operation.. The campaign #Save Sweet Briar has raised $1 million, and another $10 million has been pledged. Against this backdrop, the experiences of Sweet Briar’s postwar graduates, who have been galvanized by the campaign and are reconnecting on Facebook, email and by phone, paint a vivid picture of an era marked by conflicting cultures: one that was still defined by hostess houses, white gloves and the “ring before spring” doctrine that cast women’s colleges as mere finishing schools, and one with a commitment to educating women for roles far from the home.


Question: what was the problem specified in the 1960 article?

In 1960, The New York Times published an article with a headline that read, “Road From Sophocles to Spock Is Often a Bumpy One.” It reported on “the problem,” as the president of Barnard College put it, of the educated housewife: her anxiety, frustration and claustrophobia. Phyllis Levin, its author, likened her subjects to “a two-headed schizophrenic” who “used to talk about whether music was frozen architecture, now she talks over frozen food plans.” Noting that the right to vote had been won in 1920, Ms. Levin pointed out that “the modern woman” was only 40 years old, and lamented her descent from the ivory tower of academia to “push-button kitchens, supermarkets and finished basements.” Ms. Levin said recently that she had forgotten the furor her article and others raised (Betty Friedan noted her piece in “The Feminine Mystique”) but does remember being asked to do a book, a proposal she turned down, she said, “because I didn’t have a solution to the problem.”

Answer: the educated housewife: her anxiety, frustration and claustrophobia

In 1960, The New York Times published an article with a headline that read, “Road From Sophocles to Spock Is Often a Bumpy One.” <hl> It reported on “the problem,” as the president of Barnard College put it, of the educated housewife: her anxiety, frustration and claustrophobia . <hl> Phyllis Levin, its author, likened her subjects to “a two-headed schizophrenic” who “used to talk about whether music was frozen architecture, now she talks over frozen food plans.” Noting that the right to vote had been won in 1920, Ms. Levin pointed out that “the modern woman” was only 40 years old, and lamented her descent from the ivory tower of academia to “push-button kitchens, supermarkets and finished basements.” Ms. Levin said recently that she had forgotten the furor her article and others raised (Betty Friedan noted her piece in “The Feminine Mystique”) but does remember being asked to do a book, a proposal she turned down, she said, “because I didn’t have a solution to the problem.”

In 1960, The New York Times published an article with a headline that read, “Road From Sophocles to Spock Is Often a Bumpy One.” It reported on “the problem,” as the president of Barnard College put it, of <hl> the educated housewife: her anxiety, frustration and claustrophobia <hl>. Phyllis Levin, its author, likened her subjects to “a two-headed schizophrenic” who “used to talk about whether music was frozen architecture, now she talks over frozen food plans.” Noting that the right to vote had been won in 1920, Ms. Levin pointed out that “the modern woman” was only 40 years old, and lamented her descent from the ivory tower of academia to “push-button kitchens, supermarkets and finished basements.” Ms. Levin said recently that she had forgotten the furor her article and others raised (Betty Friedan noted her piece in “The Feminine Mystique”) but does remember being asked to do a book, a proposal she turned down, she said, “because I didn’t have a solution to the problem.”

It reported on “the problem,” as the president of Barnard College put it, of <hl> the educated housewife: her anxiety, frustration and claustrophobia <hl> .


Question: who was the author of the New York Times article?

Answer: Phyllis Levin

In 1960, The New York Times published an article with a headline that read, “Road From Sophocles to Spock Is Often a Bumpy One.” It reported on “the problem,” as the president of Barnard College put it, of the educated housewife: her anxiety, frustration and claustrophobia. <hl> Phyllis Levin , its author, likened her subjects to “a two-headed schizophrenic” who “used to talk about whether music was frozen architecture, now she talks over frozen food plans.” <hl> Noting that the right to vote had been won in 1920, Ms. Levin pointed out that “the modern woman” was only 40 years old, and lamented her descent from the ivory tower of academia to “push-button kitchens, supermarkets and finished basements.” Ms. Levin said recently that she had forgotten the furor her article and others raised (Betty Friedan noted her piece in “The Feminine Mystique”) but does remember being asked to do a book, a proposal she turned down, she said, “because I didn’t have a solution to the problem.”

In 1960, The New York Times published an article with a headline that read, “Road From Sophocles to Spock Is Often a Bumpy One.” It reported on “the problem,” as the president of Barnard College put it, of the educated housewife: her anxiety, frustration and claustrophobia. <hl> Phyllis Levin <hl>, its author, likened her subjects to “a two-headed schizophrenic” who “used to talk about whether music was frozen architecture, now she talks over frozen food plans.” Noting that the right to vote had been won in 1920, Ms. Levin pointed out that “the modern woman” was only 40 years old, and lamented her descent from the ivory tower of academia to “push-button kitchens, supermarkets and finished basements.” Ms. Levin said recently that she had forgotten the furor her article and others raised (Betty Friedan noted her piece in “The Feminine Mystique”) but does remember being asked to do a book, a proposal she turned down, she said, “because I didn’t have a solution to the problem.”

<hl> Phyllis Levin <hl> , its author, likened her subjects to “a two-headed schizophrenic” who “used to talk about whether music was frozen architecture, now she talks over frozen food plans.”


Question: how old did Ms Levin allege that the modern woman was?

Answer: 40 years old

In 1960, The New York Times published an article with a headline that read, “Road From Sophocles to Spock Is Often a Bumpy One.” It reported on “the problem,” as the president of Barnard College put it, of the educated housewife: her anxiety, frustration and claustrophobia. Phyllis Levin, its author, likened her subjects to “a two-headed schizophrenic” who “used to talk about whether music was frozen architecture, now she talks over frozen food plans.” <hl> Noting that the right to vote had been won in 1920, Ms. Levin pointed out that “the modern woman” was only 40 years old , and lamented her descent from the ivory tower of academia to “push-button kitchens, supermarkets and finished basements.” <hl> Ms. Levin said recently that she had forgotten the furor her article and others raised (Betty Friedan noted her piece in “The Feminine Mystique”) but does remember being asked to do a book, a proposal she turned down, she said, “because I didn’t have a solution to the problem.”

In 1960, The New York Times published an article with a headline that read, “Road From Sophocles to Spock Is Often a Bumpy One.” It reported on “the problem,” as the president of Barnard College put it, of the educated housewife: her anxiety, frustration and claustrophobia. Phyllis Levin, its author, likened her subjects to “a two-headed schizophrenic” who “used to talk about whether music was frozen architecture, now she talks over frozen food plans.” Noting that the right to vote had been won in 1920, Ms. Levin pointed out that “the modern woman” was only <hl> 40 years old <hl>, and lamented her descent from the ivory tower of academia to “push-button kitchens, supermarkets and finished basements.” Ms. Levin said recently that she had forgotten the furor her article and others raised (Betty Friedan noted her piece in “The Feminine Mystique”) but does remember being asked to do a book, a proposal she turned down, she said, “because I didn’t have a solution to the problem.”

Noting that the right to vote had been won in 1920, Ms. Levin pointed out that “the modern woman” was only <hl> 40 years old <hl> , and lamented her descent from the ivory tower of academia to “push-button kitchens, supermarkets and finished basements.”


Question: what did Phyllis Levin compare woman to?

Answer: a two-headed schizophrenic

In 1960, The New York Times published an article with a headline that read, “Road From Sophocles to Spock Is Often a Bumpy One.” It reported on “the problem,” as the president of Barnard College put it, of the educated housewife: her anxiety, frustration and claustrophobia. <hl> Phyllis Levin, its author, likened her subjects to “ a two-headed schizophrenic ” who “used to talk about whether music was frozen architecture, now she talks over frozen food plans.” <hl> Noting that the right to vote had been won in 1920, Ms. Levin pointed out that “the modern woman” was only 40 years old, and lamented her descent from the ivory tower of academia to “push-button kitchens, supermarkets and finished basements.” Ms. Levin said recently that she had forgotten the furor her article and others raised (Betty Friedan noted her piece in “The Feminine Mystique”) but does remember being asked to do a book, a proposal she turned down, she said, “because I didn’t have a solution to the problem.”

In 1960, The New York Times published an article with a headline that read, “Road From Sophocles to Spock Is Often a Bumpy One.” It reported on “the problem,” as the president of Barnard College put it, of the educated housewife: her anxiety, frustration and claustrophobia. Phyllis Levin, its author, likened her subjects to “<hl> a two-headed schizophrenic <hl>” who “used to talk about whether music was frozen architecture, now she talks over frozen food plans.” Noting that the right to vote had been won in 1920, Ms. Levin pointed out that “the modern woman” was only 40 years old, and lamented her descent from the ivory tower of academia to “push-button kitchens, supermarkets and finished basements.” Ms. Levin said recently that she had forgotten the furor her article and others raised (Betty Friedan noted her piece in “The Feminine Mystique”) but does remember being asked to do a book, a proposal she turned down, she said, “because I didn’t have a solution to the problem.”

Phyllis Levin, its author, likened her subjects to “ <hl> a two-headed schizophrenic <hl> ” who “used to talk about whether music was frozen architecture, now she talks over frozen food plans.”


Question: when was woman's suffrage obtained?

Answer: 1920

In 1960, The New York Times published an article with a headline that read, “Road From Sophocles to Spock Is Often a Bumpy One.” It reported on “the problem,” as the president of Barnard College put it, of the educated housewife: her anxiety, frustration and claustrophobia. Phyllis Levin, its author, likened her subjects to “a two-headed schizophrenic” who “used to talk about whether music was frozen architecture, now she talks over frozen food plans.” <hl> Noting that the right to vote had been won in 1920 , Ms. Levin pointed out that “the modern woman” was only 40 years old, and lamented her descent from the ivory tower of academia to “push-button kitchens, supermarkets and finished basements.” <hl> Ms. Levin said recently that she had forgotten the furor her article and others raised (Betty Friedan noted her piece in “The Feminine Mystique”) but does remember being asked to do a book, a proposal she turned down, she said, “because I didn’t have a solution to the problem.”

In 1960, The New York Times published an article with a headline that read, “Road From Sophocles to Spock Is Often a Bumpy One.” It reported on “the problem,” as the president of Barnard College put it, of the educated housewife: her anxiety, frustration and claustrophobia. Phyllis Levin, its author, likened her subjects to “a two-headed schizophrenic” who “used to talk about whether music was frozen architecture, now she talks over frozen food plans.” Noting that the right to vote had been won in <hl> 1920 <hl>, Ms. Levin pointed out that “the modern woman” was only 40 years old, and lamented her descent from the ivory tower of academia to “push-button kitchens, supermarkets and finished basements.” Ms. Levin said recently that she had forgotten the furor her article and others raised (Betty Friedan noted her piece in “The Feminine Mystique”) but does remember being asked to do a book, a proposal she turned down, she said, “because I didn’t have a solution to the problem.”

Noting that the right to vote had been won in <hl> 1920 <hl> , Ms. Levin pointed out that “the modern woman” was only 40 years old, and lamented her descent from the ivory tower of academia to “push-button kitchens, supermarkets and finished basements.”


Question: When did Jo Ann Soderquist graduate?

“This knocked me off my feet,” she said, adding, “when I left Sweet Briar, there was no question that I would go on to graduate school.” Jo Ann Soderquist Kramer, class of ’64, said that when she arrived for her freshman year, she and her roommate each unpacked identical framed 8-by-10 photographs of their high school sweethearts and set them carefully on their bureaus. She also recalled being driven all the way to Massachusetts one football weekend (the sweethearts were Amherst and Williams men) in a white Cadillac with a hired driver named Coffee Jackson.

Answer: class of ’64

“This knocked me off my feet,” she said, adding, “when I left Sweet Briar, there was no question that I would go on to graduate school.” <hl> Jo Ann Soderquist Kramer, class of ’64 , said that when she arrived for her freshman year, she and her roommate each unpacked identical framed 8-by-10 photographs of their high school sweethearts and set them carefully on their bureaus. <hl> She also recalled being driven all the way to Massachusetts one football weekend (the sweethearts were Amherst and Williams men) in a white Cadillac with a hired driver named Coffee Jackson.

“This knocked me off my feet,” she said, adding, “when I left Sweet Briar, there was no question that I would go on to graduate school.” Jo Ann Soderquist Kramer, <hl> class of ’64 <hl>, said that when she arrived for her freshman year, she and her roommate each unpacked identical framed 8-by-10 photographs of their high school sweethearts and set them carefully on their bureaus. She also recalled being driven all the way to Massachusetts one football weekend (the sweethearts were Amherst and Williams men) in a white Cadillac with a hired driver named Coffee Jackson.

Jo Ann Soderquist Kramer, <hl> class of ’64 <hl> , said that when she arrived for her freshman year, she and her roommate each unpacked identical framed 8-by-10 photographs of their high school sweethearts and set them carefully on their bureaus.


Question: what did both Jo Ann and her dorm mate both have?

Answer: 8-by-10 photographs of their high school sweethearts

“This knocked me off my feet,” she said, adding, “when I left Sweet Briar, there was no question that I would go on to graduate school.” <hl> Jo Ann Soderquist Kramer, class of ’64, said that when she arrived for her freshman year, she and her roommate each unpacked identical framed 8-by-10 photographs of their high school sweethearts and set them carefully on their bureaus. <hl> She also recalled being driven all the way to Massachusetts one football weekend (the sweethearts were Amherst and Williams men) in a white Cadillac with a hired driver named Coffee Jackson.

“This knocked me off my feet,” she said, adding, “when I left Sweet Briar, there was no question that I would go on to graduate school.” Jo Ann Soderquist Kramer, class of ’64, said that when she arrived for her freshman year, she and her roommate each unpacked identical framed <hl> 8-by-10 photographs of their high school sweethearts <hl> and set them carefully on their bureaus. She also recalled being driven all the way to Massachusetts one football weekend (the sweethearts were Amherst and Williams men) in a white Cadillac with a hired driver named Coffee Jackson.


Question: where did they place the photos of there love interests?

Answer: on their bureaus

“This knocked me off my feet,” she said, adding, “when I left Sweet Briar, there was no question that I would go on to graduate school.” <hl> Jo Ann Soderquist Kramer, class of ’64, said that when she arrived for her freshman year, she and her roommate each unpacked identical framed 8-by-10 photographs of their high school sweethearts and set them carefully on their bureaus . <hl> She also recalled being driven all the way to Massachusetts one football weekend (the sweethearts were Amherst and Williams men) in a white Cadillac with a hired driver named Coffee Jackson.

“This knocked me off my feet,” she said, adding, “when I left Sweet Briar, there was no question that I would go on to graduate school.” Jo Ann Soderquist Kramer, class of ’64, said that when she arrived for her freshman year, she and her roommate each unpacked identical framed 8-by-10 photographs of their high school sweethearts and set them carefully <hl> on their bureaus <hl>. She also recalled being driven all the way to Massachusetts one football weekend (the sweethearts were Amherst and Williams men) in a white Cadillac with a hired driver named Coffee Jackson.

Jo Ann Soderquist Kramer, class of ’64, said that when she arrived for her freshman year, she and her roommate each unpacked identical framed 8-by-10 photographs of their high school sweethearts and set them carefully <hl> on their bureaus <hl> .


Question: what was the name of the chauffeur

Answer: Coffee Jackson

“This knocked me off my feet,” she said, adding, “when I left Sweet Briar, there was no question that I would go on to graduate school.” Jo Ann Soderquist Kramer, class of ’64, said that when she arrived for her freshman year, she and her roommate each unpacked identical framed 8-by-10 photographs of their high school sweethearts and set them carefully on their bureaus. <hl> She also recalled being driven all the way to Massachusetts one football weekend (the sweethearts were Amherst and Williams men) in a white Cadillac with a hired driver named Coffee Jackson . <hl>

“This knocked me off my feet,” she said, adding, “when I left Sweet Briar, there was no question that I would go on to graduate school.” Jo Ann Soderquist Kramer, class of ’64, said that when she arrived for her freshman year, she and her roommate each unpacked identical framed 8-by-10 photographs of their high school sweethearts and set them carefully on their bureaus. She also recalled being driven all the way to Massachusetts one football weekend (the sweethearts were Amherst and Williams men) in a white Cadillac with a hired driver named <hl> Coffee Jackson <hl>.

She also recalled being driven all the way to Massachusetts one football weekend (the sweethearts were Amherst and Williams men) in a white Cadillac with a hired driver named <hl> Coffee Jackson <hl> .


Question: where did their boyfriends go to school?

Answer: Amherst and Williams

“This knocked me off my feet,” she said, adding, “when I left Sweet Briar, there was no question that I would go on to graduate school.” Jo Ann Soderquist Kramer, class of ’64, said that when she arrived for her freshman year, she and her roommate each unpacked identical framed 8-by-10 photographs of their high school sweethearts and set them carefully on their bureaus. <hl> She also recalled being driven all the way to Massachusetts one football weekend (the sweethearts were Amherst and Williams men) in a white Cadillac with a hired driver named Coffee Jackson. <hl>

“This knocked me off my feet,” she said, adding, “when I left Sweet Briar, there was no question that I would go on to graduate school.” Jo Ann Soderquist Kramer, class of ’64, said that when she arrived for her freshman year, she and her roommate each unpacked identical framed 8-by-10 photographs of their high school sweethearts and set them carefully on their bureaus. She also recalled being driven all the way to Massachusetts one football weekend (the sweethearts were <hl> Amherst and Williams <hl> men) in a white Cadillac with a hired driver named Coffee Jackson.


Question: what school did the dean offer to get Georgie into?

“So my grades were not great,” she said. One day she was summoned to the dean’s office. “Georgie,” she remembered the dean saying, “you have not made a hit socially or academically. How would you like to transfer to Princeton?” (The Ivy League school started accepting women in 1969.) “I said, ‘How would I get in?’ She told me not to worry, that it had been arranged, to just go. Being stubborn, I refused.” In the next three years, she worked hard, was elected president of the student government as well as the Glamour magazine representative for the school. She accepted that honor, she said, “wearing my usual uniform, the bluejeans, army jacket and boots.”

Answer: Princeton

“So my grades were not great,” she said. One day she was summoned to the dean’s office. “Georgie,” she remembered the dean saying, “you have not made a hit socially or academically. <hl> How would you like to transfer to Princeton ?” <hl> (The Ivy League school started accepting women in 1969.) “I said, ‘How would I get in?’ She told me not to worry, that it had been arranged, to just go. Being stubborn, I refused.” In the next three years, she worked hard, was elected president of the student government as well as the Glamour magazine representative for the school. She accepted that honor, she said, “wearing my usual uniform, the bluejeans, army jacket and boots.”

“So my grades were not great,” she said. One day she was summoned to the dean’s office. “Georgie,” she remembered the dean saying, “you have not made a hit socially or academically. How would you like to transfer to <hl> Princeton <hl>?” (The Ivy League school started accepting women in 1969.) “I said, ‘How would I get in?’ She told me not to worry, that it had been arranged, to just go. Being stubborn, I refused.” In the next three years, she worked hard, was elected president of the student government as well as the Glamour magazine representative for the school. She accepted that honor, she said, “wearing my usual uniform, the bluejeans, army jacket and boots.”

How would you like to transfer to <hl> Princeton <hl> ?”


Question: What did George say when offered to go to Princeton?

Answer: I refused

Being stubborn, I refused .”

“So my grades were not great,” she said. One day she was summoned to the dean’s office. “Georgie,” she remembered the dean saying, “you have not made a hit socially or academically. How would you like to transfer to Princeton?” (The Ivy League school started accepting women in 1969.) “I said, ‘How would I get in?’ She told me not to worry, that it had been arranged, to just go. <hl> Being stubborn, I refused .” <hl> In the next three years, she worked hard, was elected president of the student government as well as the Glamour magazine representative for the school. She accepted that honor, she said, “wearing my usual uniform, the bluejeans, army jacket and boots.”

“So my grades were not great,” she said. One day she was summoned to the dean’s office. “Georgie,” she remembered the dean saying, “you have not made a hit socially or academically. How would you like to transfer to Princeton?” (The Ivy League school started accepting women in 1969.) “I said, ‘How would I get in?’ She told me not to worry, that it had been arranged, to just go. Being stubborn, <hl> I refused <hl>.” In the next three years, she worked hard, was elected president of the student government as well as the Glamour magazine representative for the school. She accepted that honor, she said, “wearing my usual uniform, the bluejeans, army jacket and boots.”


Question: what publication job did Georgie work for?

Answer: the Glamour magazine

“So my grades were not great,” she said. One day she was summoned to the dean’s office. “Georgie,” she remembered the dean saying, “you have not made a hit socially or academically. How would you like to transfer to Princeton?” (The Ivy League school started accepting women in 1969.) “I said, ‘How would I get in?’ She told me not to worry, that it had been arranged, to just go. Being stubborn, I refused.” <hl> In the next three years, she worked hard, was elected president of the student government as well as the Glamour magazine representative for the school. <hl> She accepted that honor, she said, “wearing my usual uniform, the bluejeans, army jacket and boots.”

“So my grades were not great,” she said. One day she was summoned to the dean’s office. “Georgie,” she remembered the dean saying, “you have not made a hit socially or academically. How would you like to transfer to Princeton?” (The Ivy League school started accepting women in 1969.) “I said, ‘How would I get in?’ She told me not to worry, that it had been arranged, to just go. Being stubborn, I refused.” In the next three years, she worked hard, was elected president of the student government as well as <hl> the Glamour magazine <hl> representative for the school. She accepted that honor, she said, “wearing my usual uniform, the bluejeans, army jacket and boots.”


Question: what kind of outer garment did Georgie wear while being elected?

Answer: army jacket

“So my grades were not great,” she said. One day she was summoned to the dean’s office. “Georgie,” she remembered the dean saying, “you have not made a hit socially or academically. How would you like to transfer to Princeton?” (The Ivy League school started accepting women in 1969.) “I said, ‘How would I get in?’ She told me not to worry, that it had been arranged, to just go. Being stubborn, I refused.” In the next three years, she worked hard, was elected president of the student government as well as the Glamour magazine representative for the school. <hl> She accepted that honor, she said, “wearing my usual uniform, the bluejeans, army jacket and boots.” <hl>

“So my grades were not great,” she said. One day she was summoned to the dean’s office. “Georgie,” she remembered the dean saying, “you have not made a hit socially or academically. How would you like to transfer to Princeton?” (The Ivy League school started accepting women in 1969.) “I said, ‘How would I get in?’ She told me not to worry, that it had been arranged, to just go. Being stubborn, I refused.” In the next three years, she worked hard, was elected president of the student government as well as the Glamour magazine representative for the school. She accepted that honor, she said, “wearing my usual uniform, the bluejeans, <hl> army jacket <hl> and boots.”


Question: when did Princeton begin admitting women?

Answer: 1969

“So my grades were not great,” she said. One day she was summoned to the dean’s office. “Georgie,” she remembered the dean saying, “you have not made a hit socially or academically. How would you like to transfer to Princeton?” <hl> (The Ivy League school started accepting women in 1969 .) <hl> “I said, ‘How would I get in?’ She told me not to worry, that it had been arranged, to just go. Being stubborn, I refused.” In the next three years, she worked hard, was elected president of the student government as well as the Glamour magazine representative for the school. She accepted that honor, she said, “wearing my usual uniform, the bluejeans, army jacket and boots.”

“So my grades were not great,” she said. One day she was summoned to the dean’s office. “Georgie,” she remembered the dean saying, “you have not made a hit socially or academically. How would you like to transfer to Princeton?” (The Ivy League school started accepting women in <hl> 1969 <hl>.) “I said, ‘How would I get in?’ She told me not to worry, that it had been arranged, to just go. Being stubborn, I refused.” In the next three years, she worked hard, was elected president of the student government as well as the Glamour magazine representative for the school. She accepted that honor, she said, “wearing my usual uniform, the bluejeans, army jacket and boots.”

(The Ivy League school started accepting women in <hl> 1969 <hl> .)


Question: Where did Mimi Fahs attend school before college?

As a high school student in Battle Creek, Mich., Mimi Fahs dreamed of Wellesley, but it was freezing cold the day she visited. She saw Sweet Briar in the spring, “and, oh my God, what a contrast,” she said. Dr. Fahs, now 65 and a professor at the CUNY School of Public Health at Hunter College, was in Sweet Briar’s class of ’71. Her first day, she plastered her freshman dorm room with anti-Vietnam War posters. As it happened, her roommate, who was from North Carolina, had friends who were fighting there.

Answer: Battle Creek, Mich

<hl> As a high school student in Battle Creek, Mich ., Mimi Fahs dreamed of Wellesley, but it was freezing cold the day she visited. <hl> She saw Sweet Briar in the spring, “and, oh my God, what a contrast,” she said. Dr. Fahs, now 65 and a professor at the CUNY School of Public Health at Hunter College, was in Sweet Briar’s class of ’71. Her first day, she plastered her freshman dorm room with anti-Vietnam War posters. As it happened, her roommate, who was from North Carolina, had friends who were fighting there.

As a high school student in <hl> Battle Creek, Mich <hl>., Mimi Fahs dreamed of Wellesley, but it was freezing cold the day she visited. She saw Sweet Briar in the spring, “and, oh my God, what a contrast,” she said. Dr. Fahs, now 65 and a professor at the CUNY School of Public Health at Hunter College, was in Sweet Briar’s class of ’71. Her first day, she plastered her freshman dorm room with anti-Vietnam War posters. As it happened, her roommate, who was from North Carolina, had friends who were fighting there.

As a high school student in <hl> Battle Creek, Mich <hl> ., Mimi Fahs dreamed of Wellesley, but it was freezing cold the day she visited.


Question: what time of year did Mimi visit Sweet Briar?

Answer: in the spring

As a high school student in Battle Creek, Mich., Mimi Fahs dreamed of Wellesley, but it was freezing cold the day she visited. <hl> She saw Sweet Briar in the spring , “and, oh my God, what a contrast,” she said. <hl> Dr. Fahs, now 65 and a professor at the CUNY School of Public Health at Hunter College, was in Sweet Briar’s class of ’71. Her first day, she plastered her freshman dorm room with anti-Vietnam War posters. As it happened, her roommate, who was from North Carolina, had friends who were fighting there.

As a high school student in Battle Creek, Mich., Mimi Fahs dreamed of Wellesley, but it was freezing cold the day she visited. She saw Sweet Briar <hl> in the spring <hl>, “and, oh my God, what a contrast,” she said. Dr. Fahs, now 65 and a professor at the CUNY School of Public Health at Hunter College, was in Sweet Briar’s class of ’71. Her first day, she plastered her freshman dorm room with anti-Vietnam War posters. As it happened, her roommate, who was from North Carolina, had friends who were fighting there.

She saw Sweet Briar <hl> in the spring <hl> , “and, oh my God, what a contrast,” she said.


Question: how old is Dr. Fahs?

Answer: 65

As a high school student in Battle Creek, Mich., Mimi Fahs dreamed of Wellesley, but it was freezing cold the day she visited. She saw Sweet Briar in the spring, “and, oh my God, what a contrast,” she said. <hl> Dr. Fahs, now 65 and a professor at the CUNY School of Public Health at Hunter College, was in Sweet Briar’s class of ’71. <hl> Her first day, she plastered her freshman dorm room with anti-Vietnam War posters. As it happened, her roommate, who was from North Carolina, had friends who were fighting there.

As a high school student in Battle Creek, Mich., Mimi Fahs dreamed of Wellesley, but it was freezing cold the day she visited. She saw Sweet Briar in the spring, “and, oh my God, what a contrast,” she said. Dr. Fahs, now <hl> 65 <hl> and a professor at the CUNY School of Public Health at Hunter College, was in Sweet Briar’s class of ’71. Her first day, she plastered her freshman dorm room with anti-Vietnam War posters. As it happened, her roommate, who was from North Carolina, had friends who were fighting there.


Question: what is Dr. Fahs professional title?

Answer: professor at the CUNY School of Public Health at Hunter College

As a high school student in Battle Creek, Mich., Mimi Fahs dreamed of Wellesley, but it was freezing cold the day she visited. She saw Sweet Briar in the spring, “and, oh my God, what a contrast,” she said. <hl> Dr. Fahs, now 65 and a professor at the CUNY School of Public Health at Hunter College , was in Sweet Briar’s class of ’71. <hl> Her first day, she plastered her freshman dorm room with anti-Vietnam War posters. As it happened, her roommate, who was from North Carolina, had friends who were fighting there.

As a high school student in Battle Creek, Mich., Mimi Fahs dreamed of Wellesley, but it was freezing cold the day she visited. She saw Sweet Briar in the spring, “and, oh my God, what a contrast,” she said. Dr. Fahs, now 65 and a <hl> professor at the CUNY School of Public Health at Hunter College <hl>, was in Sweet Briar’s class of ’71. Her first day, she plastered her freshman dorm room with anti-Vietnam War posters. As it happened, her roommate, who was from North Carolina, had friends who were fighting there.

Dr. Fahs, now 65 and a <hl> professor at the CUNY School of Public Health at Hunter College <hl> , was in Sweet Briar’s class of ’71.


Question: what did Fahs put up on her walls where she lived?

Answer: anti-Vietnam War posters

As a high school student in Battle Creek, Mich., Mimi Fahs dreamed of Wellesley, but it was freezing cold the day she visited. She saw Sweet Briar in the spring, “and, oh my God, what a contrast,” she said. Dr. Fahs, now 65 and a professor at the CUNY School of Public Health at Hunter College, was in Sweet Briar’s class of ’71. <hl> Her first day, she plastered her freshman dorm room with anti-Vietnam War posters . <hl> As it happened, her roommate, who was from North Carolina, had friends who were fighting there.

As a high school student in Battle Creek, Mich., Mimi Fahs dreamed of Wellesley, but it was freezing cold the day she visited. She saw Sweet Briar in the spring, “and, oh my God, what a contrast,” she said. Dr. Fahs, now 65 and a professor at the CUNY School of Public Health at Hunter College, was in Sweet Briar’s class of ’71. Her first day, she plastered her freshman dorm room with <hl> anti-Vietnam War posters <hl>. As it happened, her roommate, who was from North Carolina, had friends who were fighting there.

Her first day, she plastered her freshman dorm room with <hl> anti-Vietnam War posters <hl> .


Question: On what date Samuel Harrell announced he was going home?

On the evening of April 21 in Building 21 at the Fishkill Correctional Facility, Samuel Harrell, an inmate with a history of erratic behavior linked to bipolar disorder, packed his bags and announced he was going home, though he still had several years left to serve on his drug sentence. Not long after, he got into a confrontation with corrections officers, was thrown to the floor and was handcuffed. As many as 20 officers — including members of a group known around the prison as the Beat Up Squad — repeatedly kicked and punched Mr. Harrell, who is black, with some of them shouting racial slurs, according to more than a dozen inmate witnesses. “Like he was a trampoline, they were jumping on him,” said Edwin Pearson, an inmate who watched from a nearby bathroom. Mr. Harrell was then thrown or dragged down a staircase, according to the inmates’ accounts. One inmate reported seeing him lying on the landing, “bent in an impossible position.”

Answer: April 21

<hl> On the evening of April 21 in Building 21 at the Fishkill Correctional Facility, Samuel Harrell, an inmate with a history of erratic behavior linked to bipolar disorder, packed his bags and announced he was going home, though he still had several years left to serve on his drug sentence. <hl> Not long after, he got into a confrontation with corrections officers, was thrown to the floor and was handcuffed. As many as 20 officers — including members of a group known around the prison as the Beat Up Squad — repeatedly kicked and punched Mr. Harrell, who is black, with some of them shouting racial slurs, according to more than a dozen inmate witnesses. “Like he was a trampoline, they were jumping on him,” said Edwin Pearson, an inmate who watched from a nearby bathroom. Mr. Harrell was then thrown or dragged down a staircase, according to the inmates’ accounts. One inmate reported seeing him lying on the landing, “bent in an impossible position.”

On the evening of <hl> April 21 <hl> in Building 21 at the Fishkill Correctional Facility, Samuel Harrell, an inmate with a history of erratic behavior linked to bipolar disorder, packed his bags and announced he was going home, though he still had several years left to serve on his drug sentence. Not long after, he got into a confrontation with corrections officers, was thrown to the floor and was handcuffed. As many as 20 officers — including members of a group known around the prison as the Beat Up Squad — repeatedly kicked and punched Mr. Harrell, who is black, with some of them shouting racial slurs, according to more than a dozen inmate witnesses. “Like he was a trampoline, they were jumping on him,” said Edwin Pearson, an inmate who watched from a nearby bathroom. Mr. Harrell was then thrown or dragged down a staircase, according to the inmates’ accounts. One inmate reported seeing him lying on the landing, “bent in an impossible position.”


Question: In what building was Samuel Harrel?

Answer: Building 21

<hl> On the evening of April 21 in Building 21 at the Fishkill Correctional Facility, Samuel Harrell, an inmate with a history of erratic behavior linked to bipolar disorder, packed his bags and announced he was going home, though he still had several years left to serve on his drug sentence. <hl> Not long after, he got into a confrontation with corrections officers, was thrown to the floor and was handcuffed. As many as 20 officers — including members of a group known around the prison as the Beat Up Squad — repeatedly kicked and punched Mr. Harrell, who is black, with some of them shouting racial slurs, according to more than a dozen inmate witnesses. “Like he was a trampoline, they were jumping on him,” said Edwin Pearson, an inmate who watched from a nearby bathroom. Mr. Harrell was then thrown or dragged down a staircase, according to the inmates’ accounts. One inmate reported seeing him lying on the landing, “bent in an impossible position.”

On the evening of April 21 in <hl> Building 21 <hl> at the Fishkill Correctional Facility, Samuel Harrell, an inmate with a history of erratic behavior linked to bipolar disorder, packed his bags and announced he was going home, though he still had several years left to serve on his drug sentence. Not long after, he got into a confrontation with corrections officers, was thrown to the floor and was handcuffed. As many as 20 officers — including members of a group known around the prison as the Beat Up Squad — repeatedly kicked and punched Mr. Harrell, who is black, with some of them shouting racial slurs, according to more than a dozen inmate witnesses. “Like he was a trampoline, they were jumping on him,” said Edwin Pearson, an inmate who watched from a nearby bathroom. Mr. Harrell was then thrown or dragged down a staircase, according to the inmates’ accounts. One inmate reported seeing him lying on the landing, “bent in an impossible position.”


Question: In which Correctional Facility was imprisoned Samuel Harrell?

Answer: Fishkill Correctional Facility

<hl> On the evening of April 21 in Building 21 at the Fishkill Correctional Facility , Samuel Harrell, an inmate with a history of erratic behavior linked to bipolar disorder, packed his bags and announced he was going home, though he still had several years left to serve on his drug sentence. <hl> Not long after, he got into a confrontation with corrections officers, was thrown to the floor and was handcuffed. As many as 20 officers — including members of a group known around the prison as the Beat Up Squad — repeatedly kicked and punched Mr. Harrell, who is black, with some of them shouting racial slurs, according to more than a dozen inmate witnesses. “Like he was a trampoline, they were jumping on him,” said Edwin Pearson, an inmate who watched from a nearby bathroom. Mr. Harrell was then thrown or dragged down a staircase, according to the inmates’ accounts. One inmate reported seeing him lying on the landing, “bent in an impossible position.”

On the evening of April 21 in Building 21 at the <hl> Fishkill Correctional Facility <hl>, Samuel Harrell, an inmate with a history of erratic behavior linked to bipolar disorder, packed his bags and announced he was going home, though he still had several years left to serve on his drug sentence. Not long after, he got into a confrontation with corrections officers, was thrown to the floor and was handcuffed. As many as 20 officers — including members of a group known around the prison as the Beat Up Squad — repeatedly kicked and punched Mr. Harrell, who is black, with some of them shouting racial slurs, according to more than a dozen inmate witnesses. “Like he was a trampoline, they were jumping on him,” said Edwin Pearson, an inmate who watched from a nearby bathroom. Mr. Harrell was then thrown or dragged down a staircase, according to the inmates’ accounts. One inmate reported seeing him lying on the landing, “bent in an impossible position.”

On the evening of April 21 in Building 21 at the <hl> Fishkill Correctional Facility <hl> , Samuel Harrell, an inmate with a history of erratic behavior linked to bipolar disorder, packed his bags and announced he was going home, though he still had several years left to serve on his drug sentence.