Word: 33rd
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Dates: during 1930-1939
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...annoyed frown is usually to be seen behind his pince nez. His lack of humor makes him a perennial target for opposition wags. No one questions his sincerity and within his own ranks he is respected for his devotion to his party. He is a devout Methodist, a 33rd Degree Mason, and the author of fresh-water textbooks on history, physiology, politics, civics. Outside Congress: His wife, Eva C. Thomas, died in 1925. By her he had three sons. One, Lehr, was House parliamentarian under Speaker Longworth. In Washington Senator Fess lives alone at the exclusive Carlton. He spends...
...33rd biennial convention of the United Mine Workers of America at Indianapolis came to an end last week in an atmosphere thick with New Deal harmony and goodwill. For the first time in the history of the world's largest labor union, an employers' representative, Secretary Carroll Benton Huntress of the National Coal Association, had addressed the gathering. Never before had the union boasted so many members (360,000), never before had so many delegates (1,700) attended a U. M. W. convention. There was a whole sea of new faces, delegates from areas hitherto un-unionized before...
...tight moment when his approach caught Ginger-beer bunker on the 14th. He pitched out, sank his putt for a birdie and ended the first 18 holes still three strokes up. In the afternoon, Wood took 39 to the turn as he had done in the morning. At the 33rd, he was still five strokes behind. Shute, his long iron shots travelling to the greens as though they were on wires, ran off the last three holes in par, finished with 149 to Wood's 154. Said he when he received the championship Cup from the Earl of Lindsay...
...been one of the greatest of Presidents but with such men as Mascaro, Vasco Bello, Arsenic Ortix, Cartaya and others of the same type, as his most confidential councilors and advisers, the explanation may be easily seen: of what might otherwise seem quite incompatible'. For why should a 33rd degree Mason align himself with a 44th degree assassin of such insatiable cruelty as Ortiz bristles with and always manifests...
Early one frosty morning in Manhattan, a sturdy gentleman greyed at the temples descended from his suite on the 33rd floor of the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel for a constitutional up Fifth Avenue to Central Park and back with a companion. A few people nodded to him. He smiled out of his turned-up collar. On Fifth Avenue someone leaned over a bus rail, shouted: "Howdy, Hoover! How're you doing...