Word: alarmism
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Dates: during 1950-1959
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...surprise Christmas present into his mother's suitcase. It was no drill for shell jewelry. According to the investigators, Jack's Christmas present was a 14-lb. bundle of dynamite sticks, wired to two blasting caps and a timing device (probably a Westclox traveler's alarm clock) set for explosion in 90 minutes. This week there was speculation in Denver that if one passenger had not been late to his appointment with death, and Flight 629 had departed on schedule, the explosion might easily have occurred over the Wyoming Rockies not far from the place where another...
Suddenly, all France rang with voices warning the politicos to mend their ways. President René Coty himself joined in the alarm: "In the course of their ephemeral existence, the successive chiefs of government have unceasingly, and for any reason, seen their confidence and authority questioned by those who invested them. Day after day, they are tormented and harassed until they are morally and physically exhausted." Pointedly, Coty cited Clemenceau's dictum: "Liberty is the right to discipline oneself so as not to be disciplined by others." In the pages of Le Figaro, André François-Poncet...
...Probe a 1955 Protestant, and in altogether too many cases you will find him 'touchiest' on the subject of Roman Catholicism. After 435 years, the alarm bells still ring most wildly and the panic flags still flutter most furiously when Rome is mentioned. Not all of this response is neurotic anxiety, of course. It was Rome with whom the Reformers broke; she is the ancient foe; her truth still challenges ours . . . Yet the ferocity of some anti-Roman Catholicism this month will have more behind it than any of this. There is a neurotic Protestant anxiety about Rome...
Beginning in Darkness. Just a few days before Joe left for Kansas City to attend the annual Future Farmers' convention, the Chromaster clock sounded its alarm at 4:30 a.m. in his bedroom at home. Shocked to wakefulness after eight hours of sleep, Joe swung out his bare feet and reached for the mound of khaki clothes on the linoleum floor. The shirt, clammy from three days' accumulated sweat, clung dankly to him. The pants, crusted with dirt and splotched with tractor grease, slipped on over the cotton print shorts in which he had slept. The three-hook...
...Slugabed. Half an hour after his alarm clock went off, Joe was back at the kitchen door, wiping his shoes on the grass. It was only half an hour before sunrise-and again there is a change to be noted in life on the American farm. Getting up sometimes at 4:30, generally at 5, and occasionally lolling in bed until 6, Joe Moore would have been considered a slugabed by his great-grandfather, who, out of the necessity of his era, turned out at an invariable 4 a.m. When a man is working three to ten farmhands...