Word: barrooms
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Hearst trained seals, cartoonists and columnists, who could not afford to laugh it off, got into the act as gracefully as possible. Amiable Rhymester Nick Kenny wrote a poem ("Loafing in a barroom, see them in a row; Silly women barflies, putting on a show. . . .") The doggerel brought Poet Kenny a nasty note from a woman in Brooklyn: "Confidentially, I think you're going nuts...
...that what has been left out is more important and dramatic to smalltown life than what the novel contains-that the daily routines of the teaching of history or a job with the light company are more interesting than the talks in the barroom; that the religious faith of the community has an elevation more significant than is expressed in its condemnation of sexual misdoings; that the tormented love affairs reveal a groping tenderness deeper than the bitter words that attend their endings; and finally, that the whole texture of life, the routines of going to work and to school...
...Waring profile is sagging slightly, but the Waring temperament is as sharp as ever. "I'm a perfectionist," explains Fred in his twangy Pennsylvania Tone-Syllables. He can make the claim as both showman and businessman. The Waring Corp. (whose Waring Mixer is a U.S. kitchen and barroom standby) is still doing nicely. So are the Waring Musical Library, the Shawnee Press (which sells the Waring choral arrangements), concert bookings, recordings. All told, the Waring enterprises gross the Maestro "at least" $2 million a year...
...assume that The Story of Mrs. Murphy is simply "another" novel about a drunk. They are quite right. Distinguished by nothing except low-grade prose and high-grade intentions, it is probably the worst novel of its kind since the days of T. S. (Ten Nights in a Barroom) Arthur...
...front on the bandstand, his chunky bulk overlapping a fragile barroom chair, sat Sidney, his shiny golden saxophone in hand. Behind was Lloyd Phillips, grinning at an upright piano with its insides laid bare. A Neolithic-looking fellow named Freddie Moore stared glumly at his drums. Lloyd began patting it out and Freddie picked up the beat. Then old Sidney started. The other members of the trio had sense enough to stay out of Sidney...