Word: bawls
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Dates: during 1940-1949
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Robert was not enthusiastic. He explains: "I was just out of service, still in my uniform. I had four months leave and I wanted to use it. I was full of malaria and so nervous I was ready to bawl if anyone looked at me. I agreed to conduct the Christmas service but I didn't want to stay. I wanted no part of society people who were looking for someone to say sweet things to them on Sunday. I know now that I misjudged them, but at that time I didn't think they meant business-that...
...odor (he dropped smoking years ago when he found that the buying, lighting, smoking and crushing out of cigarettes, "wasted" 8½ hours a week). Freeman also has a newspaperman's dislike of office whistlers. He will bolt from his chair, at the cost of precious seconds, to bawl out a whistling copy...
Once a year, the dignified Bond Club of New York lets off steam-in the faces of the biggest targets it can find-in the Bawl Street Journal, a ribald parody of the Wall Street Journal. In the issue out this week, a loud blast was directed at Outlander (Cleveland) and Banker-Hater Robert R. Young, along with a ribbing cartoon (see cut). Said the Journal: "ICC will give a polite reason for permitting Robert Young to join the New York Central board. Real reason ... is to 'stop those silly...
...antiquated, erratic Long Island Rail Road also came in for some parboiling. It had received permission from ICC, reported the Bawl Streeters, to charge what its service is worth. This "drastic curtailment" of its revenue had forced the Long Island to enter a new field-supplying daily comic features to 482 newspapers. General Manager David E. Smucker was made to say: "The newspapers will have to pay for the funny features which the Long Island has hitherto supplied them without cost. A ... test in the Middle West revealed that 89% of the readers rated the Long Island the nation...
...dressing room just big enough to hold her, a short, stout and bespectacled Negro woman stepped onto the two-by-four stage. The prim expression on her flat face was that of a Sunday school teacher lost in a gin mill and primed to bawl out the customers. Seconds later, her ample hips bouncing, her abdomen lewdly rolling, she was shouting the blues at the top of her voice. Last week, after a 17-year absence, Bertha ("Chippie") Hill was back at her old trade. To Manhattan's smoke-filled Village Vanguard, deep in a Greenwich Village cellar...