Word: belled
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Dates: during 1940-1949
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...town (pop. 900) can afford. Last October it found a way: one shepherd for its two flocks. Philip Humason Steinmetz, rock-hewn rector of tiny, white-framed St. John's Episcopal Church, took over as minister also of the Congregational Church that, with its Greek Revival portico and bell tower, dominates Ashfield's elm-bordered main street...
Last week the townspeople of Fulton agreed that never had Bullet shot so high, or rung the bell such a bong. For the college's annual Green Foundation lecture, supposed to be delivered by a bigwig "of international reputation," Bullet McCluer boldly went after really big game. He confided in Brigadier General Harry H. Vaughan, military aide to Harry Truman, a star football center at Westminster when Bullet was a star debater. Vaughan took him in to see the President. Look, said Bullet, talking fast, what a great idea it would be-especially at Fulton, in the heart...
...national achievement. By the '305 the bang and sparkle of this literary Fourth of July was as spent as a dead rocket. To an inquiring Briton, an American would have to reply: the outstanding U.S. novelists are John Steinbeck (The Grapes of Wrath), Ernest Hemingway (For Whom the Bell Tolls), and John O'Hara (Appointment in Samarra). Protest had turned into corrosive petulance or special pleading for the Left. Frustration had replaced anger. No U.S. writer saw U.S. life whole; and even the scrap he saw, he usually saw over the rim of a cocktail glass. The belief...
...General Lewis Hyde Brereton, 55, rough-&-tough Annapolis-graduated air corps oldtimer, whose varied World War II commands took him from the Philippines (at Pearl Harbor time) to India to Africa to Europe, where his Ninth (tactical) Air Force helped blast the way for invasion; and Londoner Zena Amanda Bell Groves, 34, whom he met in England when she was chauffeuring dignitaries as a Motor Corps member; he for the third time, she for the second; at Mitchel Field...
...once been gentlefolk. Next came the people who had laughed loudest at the White Russians, the fugitives from Fascist Italy and Nazi Germany. Then in a swamping human surf came the fugitives from Spain. Czechoslovakia, the Low Countries, France. All of them bore, like a leper's bell, the one ineffaceable possession left them by their ordeal-the mood of quiet desperation, quiet, because its very existence threatened the peace of mind of those who still felt secure; quiet, because who can really convey an experience to one who has not suffered it before...