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The nation was focused on a tropical storm spinning off the Carolinas and a hurricane headed for Florida. People were gaming out how a political novice named Sarah Palin might upend the presidential campaign.
The crowd at Oriole Park at Camden Yards was so sparse on a recent weeknight, its murmur so low, that you could hear clear across the field when a fan let out a disappointed wail at first pitch: "Where IS everybody?"
From the boisterous streets of New York to the suddenly silent casinos in Las Vegas and virtually everywhere in between, Americans celebrated Barack Obama's inauguration by answering his call for national unity: They gathered together.
Chesley Sullenberger spent practically his whole life preparing for the five-minute crucible that was US Airways Flight 1549.
Chesley Sullenberger spent practically his whole life preparing for the five-minute crucible that was US Airways Flight 1549. He got his pilot's license at 14, was named best aviator in his class at the Air Force Academy, flew fighter jets, investigated air disasters, mastered glider flying and even studied the psychology of how cockpit crews behave in a crisis.
Relief on Wall Street over the hard-won passage of a $700 billion bailout package for the financial system apparently hasn't yet trickled down to the pubs, storefronts, car lots and malls of Main Street.
It is not a tidy anniversary this year. Seven years between that awful day and this Sept. 11, the terrorist attacks linger somewhere between the immediate, a conscious part of our days, and the comfortable remove of the distant past. No longer yesterday and not yet history.
She had a 13-hour window to vote in the Arizona presidential primary, but Mona Reese decided she couldn't wait. She didn't even brush her teeth or change out of her pajamas before leaving home.
Peter Mohan traces the path from the Iraqi battlefield to this lifeless conference room, where he sits in a kilt and a Camp Kill Yourself T-shirt and calmly describes how he became a sad cliche: a homeless veteran.
Make no mistake: "Change" is in the air, the undisputed buzzword of the turbulent 2008 campaign. Lodged squarely at the intersection of politics and marketing, the word has had an almost spellbinding power over voters in election after election.
Hillary Rodham Clinton likes to say she was born in the middle of the country at the middle of the century, in a Chicago suburb that defined a childhood out of "Father Knows Best" or "Ozzie and Harriet."
The first thing you notice is how tiny they are: Row upon row of babies, some no older than this day, hooked to grotesque jumbles of tubes. Press your palm against the incubator wall and the infant inside disappears from view.
What it looked like was not so much an alphabet but a masquerade ball for 26 capital letters that had arrived early, stayed late and gotten into the good liquor.
You have to travel back in time to get from the nearest town to the chipped and wind-whipped little stone face that peers out over the Missouri River and the endless plains beyond.
This is a story about love. About inscrutable complexity and remarkable simplicity, about the promise of forever. It is about obsession and devotion, and grand gestures and 4,000-word love letters.
Saundra Clagett has spent days bouncing from one conclusion to another about what the United States should do about Iraq. She knew this much: She was glad it wasn't her decision. So Clagett and her husband, both veterans, settled in Wednesday night to watch President Bush explain to the nation why he was sending 21,500 additional U.S. troops into the war. She listened, and was unconvinced.
The World Trade Center site fell silent four times as Americans paused in airport security lines, at churches and at quiet commemorations Monday to mark the fifth anniversary of the Sept. 11 terrorist attacks.
Baseball relies on numbers the way the Earth relies on gravity. So the conundrum facing the game at the start of its new season is awkward at best, devastating at worst: Arguably its most hallowed statistical record is under assault by a man who is — unarguably, at the moment — its most vilified player.
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