Word: asphaltic
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Dates: during 1950-1959
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...more than a year, East Germany's bricklayers, asphalt, steel and cement workers have gone through an unprecedented period of full employment, building runways, flak emplacements and barrack? for the Soviet air force. East German taxpayers paid the costs. German labor offices had to recruit thousands of workers. If the labor offices failed, their functionaries were demoted or arrested. If German workers demurred, they were told: "Well, you can go into the People's Police or the uranium mines if you prefer." There is now a massive and menacing concentration of Russian air power in the Soviet zone...
...around a pole, got out only superficially hurt. Other drivers had worse in store. Peter Richard Monkhouse's British Healey somersaulted into a field and he died in the crash; Alvasio Bassi was crushed to death when his car turned turtle in a sweeping skid on the slippery asphalt. Fatalities did not compare with 1938, when 23 spectators were killed when one racer skidded into a crowd (Mussolini banned the race the next year), but it was bloody enough...
Twenty MTA workmen yesterday began a six-weeks job of raising the trolley tracks in the Square to prepare for city road pavers. The tracks must be made three inches higher before Cambridge can give Massachusetts Avenue a new asphalt finish from Garden Street to the Square...
...over the balloon man. Two runners moved up the steep hill. Both looked ready to quit. The first one grimaced showing all his teeth, and holding his stomach. The checks of the second billowed and flattened as he breathed. His hands were fists, his feet landed heavily on the asphalt. Across the road, a little girl let go of her balloon and it soared up quickly. "Look," one of the bicycle boys said, "there goes a flying saucer," and everyone, except the lonely runners, laughed...
...race, the trestle just west of the Square, paused on the crest, and slowly sank toward the ground. A woman nearby gasped. A roar rose from Fenway Park. Murphy's hands, thin and bony, gripped his knees, then slid down along his calves until the fingers stood on the asphalt. There were few spectators left, and fewer moved toward him. For a moment, even the scraps of torn paper in the gutter were resting. Then Murphy's hands pushed him up; he started to run again. "He'll never make it," a man muttered. "Attaboy, Fred," shouted another...