Word: barbershop
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Dates: during 1950-1959
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...parlayed them into a fortune estimated at $60 million-some $20 million more than Nicaragua's annual budget. He reputedly owned one-tenth of the country's farmland, plus interests in lumber, liquor, soap, cement, power, textiles, cotton-ginning, sugar-milling, air transport, merchant shipping, even a barbershop-an estimated 430 properties. "You'd do the same thing yourself if you were in my place," he used to explain. Nicaragua advanced a little; e.g., more than 600 miles of all-weather roads were built to connect the Somoza properties, but it remains a poor (yearly per capita...
...courtly old man, swaddled in topcoat and business suit against the late summer chill, walked into Boisvert's Barbershop on Cottage Street in the resort town of Bar Harbor, Me., trailed by his chauffeur. He had not phoned ahead for an appointment; nor had he, like many of the wealthy summer residents of Mount Desert* Island, sent the chauffeur down after working hours to bring one of the barbers back to his mansion. "Mr. Rockefeller," Barber Jim Corbett likes to tell his friends "just comes on in and takes his chances...
Bathroom Phone. Last week Harry Truman walked from his office to the barbershop of Frank Spina, who served as guidon for Captain Harry of Battery D, 129th Field Artillery, in World War I. Truman was especially careful about his haircut; he had an appointment in Chicago next week, and he wanted to look his best...
...went he repeated the tried-and-true Kefauver vote-getting tactics which, said one Floridian, reminded him of "a quail hunter shooting singles." In Jacksonville, with a few minutes to spare, he carried on a vigorous sidewalk campaign in the neighborhood of his hotel, then went into a barbershop to announce, "I'm Estes Kefauver. I'm running for President. I want your vote." Replied the barber: "I know who you are. You're the man everybody is against for President except the people...
...began barking up the Tennessean's tree. One day at noontime, Stevenson made his way along four blocks of Los Angeles' bustling Eighth Street, stopped strangers on the sidewalk, reached up to shake hands with truck drivers who had stopped for traffic lights, dropped in at a barbershop, paused at a fruit stand to buy an apple, which he munched as he moved on. In the garment district he crawled up on the back of a truck and spoke to the crowd, then sat at a diner counter and had a corned beef on rye, with mustard...