Word: adolph
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Ever since 1896, when the late Adolph S. Ochs bought a decrepit Manhattan daily named the New York Times for $75,000, the paper has turned a profit every year, though not what one might expect from the fattest, most prestigious newspaper in the land. Sometimes the paper's profit margin has been paper thin: as little as $61,000 in 1954-on a gross income of $1,232.000. Last week Publisher Orvil E. Dryfoos issued the Times's 1961 annual report. As daily circulation rose to a record 713,514 and Sunday circulation to a record...
Protestant Empire. In the 1880s, liberals and nationalists were vying for control of Bismarck's newly unified Germany. Mary took the side of the nationalists, whose religious fervor appealed to her. She befriended a fiery Lutheran preacher named Adolph Stoecker and installed him in her salon, where he led the company in hymns to the Fatherland, and excoriated Jews. Mary dreamed of a pure Protestant empire stretching from the U.S. to Europe to the Middle East, and rabid nationalists from all over Germany swarmed to sit at her feet. Under her influence, Wilhelm lost all interest in liberalism. When...
...Died. Adolph Toepperwein, 92, longtime touring marksman for the Winchester firearms company, a Texas gunsmith's son who won the unofficial title of world's greatest sharpshooter in a 1907 shooting match during which he gunned out of the air all but nine of 72,500 pine cubes the size of alphabet blocks, only stopped then because he had exhausted all the .22-caliber ammunition In San Antonio; of heart disease; in San Antonio...
...essentially the same Kline painting is in the Whitney called Probst I, and all you can say is 'So what's new?' Adolph Gottlieb's Soft Blue, Soft Black is another arrangement of one big circular smudge hovering over another, the lower more like a gear, the upper more like a sun. He's been doing it for years...
Capable Scripters Betty Comden and Adolph Green wrote the book and lyrics, but apparently their thinkwell ran dry. The initial notion sounds funny: to explore the antics of a special tribe of New Yorkers who shun the workaday rat race by turning into moles. They doze at Grand Central, sleep on subways, and even rest in the Egyptian sarcophagi at the Metropolitan Museum. They are not exactly bums, but grey flannel grifters who sponge off friends, walk dogs, and ring Christmas bells as charity Santas...