Word: barrelers
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Dates: during 1940-1949
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...biggest noise in an empty barrel for the year," said Clifton Fadiman in the New Yorker. "He is to me like God," wrote an awestruck Freshman in the Confidential Guide poll last spring. "The world's foremost sociologist," was the opinion of a professor in a midwestern university. In panning Sorokin's book on "Social and Cultural Dynamics," Fadiman referred to Harvard's Department of Sociology as a "White Russian WPA." But Professor Sorokin, who is head of that WPA, began his career by being just as red as the rest of his intellectual, revolutionary friends. Back...
...election in the spring was there too: Bernard F. Dickmann, Mayor of St. Louis. Short, barrel-chested, hefty, son of a prosperous old St. Louis family, a Marine Corps sergeant in World War I, he was the popular boss of St. Louis' powerful, smooth-functioning Democratic machine. He took his job seriously. He had pushed through the ordinance that had at last solved St. Louis' smoke problem. Scandals (like the Post-Dispatch exposé of 46,000 fraudulent registrations) had been lived down; splits had been sewed up. And Mayor Dickmann seemed much more like a reform mayor...
...such use of the funds. The federal and College administrators both favor the proposal; the special committee set up by the University will do well to give it a thought when the decisions are being made as to which demands are for "useful purposes" and which are pork-barrel...
...fiery, barrel-chested John Gutzon de La Mothe Borglum, the Mount Rushmore Memorial had been the crowning fight of a fighting career. Born nearly 70 years ago of Danish immigrant parents on an Idaho ranch, Borglum started out by modeling mud figures as a child on the banks of a nearby irrigation canal. When priests at a Catholic boarding school in Kansas tried to get him to draw saints and madonnas, he ran away to San Francisco to study, went on to Paris, where he worked under famed Sculptor Auguste Rodin. Back in the U. S. he bounded with bull...
...selection of Charley Ewart and Dick Casssiano, for instance, on the same staff, can be an excellent shot in the arm for Ivy League football. There has been an increasing tendency toward a stuffy smugness in the non-existent league, a tendency to shout down its own rain barrel persistently in an attempt to justify sloppy half-hearted football with a lace collar of gothic-tower dignity. There is the gentlemanly nonsense which leads a Harvard man to beaming play patty-cake over the fact that although the season was one big set-back, "after all, we did beat Yale...