Word: birthdays
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Dates: during 1930-1939
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Last fortnight Broun celebrated his sist birthday, his 31st year as a newspaperman. A prodigious writer in spite of his pose of indolence, he figured that he had turned out close to 21,000,000 words. He had also managed to paint pictures, run for Congress, organize a labor union, make innumerable speeches, run a little weekly newspaper of his own, remember the Holy Sacrament, spend hours on end eating & drinking with his friends in such Manhattan night spots as the Stork Club...
...words of 25 world-scattered polio experts, is edited by enthusiastic Dr. William Leo Colze of Brussels, now in Manhattan. U. S. publisher and distributor is the National Foundation for Infantile Paralysis, headed by Presidential friend Basil O'Connor, who administers funds raised at the President's Birthday Balls. Nuggets of information...
...only light was from the candles and they were set close down to the tables so that the floor was in shadow. That was what made the huge birthday cake seem as though it were floating through the air when the hostess carried it through the crooked aisles up to the high table. A gleaming white mountain covered with--thirty candles, the Vagabond would say. A cake of many candles...
...enough, because there should have been eighty-three. It was the thirty candles which showed how old eighty-three is. The huge white birthday cake wasn't up to the job it had undertaken; it was slacking with only thirty candles, or something like that, and probably the exact number didn't even have any mathematical relationship to eighty-three. Eighty-three is very...
...maybe it was his aloofness. He was a part of the past and gloried in it and was content to have called a close to the chapter he had written in the book of affairs. The Herald man covering Lowell's birthday last night had said "He is living in retirement at his Back Bay home" and he might as well have stopped there; and the editor calling for a cut to go with the story had been handed an old picture dug from deep in the files. The remoteness of another day and another way of life...