Word: bitterness
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Dates: during 1920-1929
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...entered the vigorous brain of Editor Don R. Mellett of the Canton Daily News, as he was putting away his car for the night (TIME, July 26 et seq.). An employe of Newspaper-owner James M. Cox, thrice Governor of Ohio, Editor Mellett had built up circulation but incurred bitter enmities by bold-printed attacks on Canton's labyrinthine underworld, Canton's obviously corrupt police force, Canton's civic officials. Detectives swarmed to Canton. Newspapers all over Ohio succeeded in confusing Justice in its course by their frantic efforts to beat one another to the mystery's solution. Evidence pointed...
...Technology runners overwhelmed Holy Cross last week 15 to 50, four of them finishing in a dead heat for first place. Harvard won its meet from the Crusaders 21 to 34. These comparative scores presage a bitter struggle today throughout the five mile...
...spasmodic spurts he tells the intimate story of a sensitive boy struggling to become a writer in the face of physical frailty and parental distrust, in mean towns built beside buffalo wallows. Beneath the burden runs a hysterically bitter ground-bass-a dirge for everything Puritan-and snarling discords to the effect that constipation was the pioneers' curse; that their children were rickety, their politics poltroonish, their women spavined, their teeth acid, their minds (including the author's) stunted and deranged, all because they failed to raise cabbages and take lime into their systems...
...President Roosevelt made him Secretary of State. Then after a bitter skirmish with William Randolph Hearst,† Mr. Root entered his international era. From Venezuela to the Newfoundland fisheries, from the Pan-American Conference to the Hague Court, this shrewd lawyer became the angel of arbitration. He was made head of the Carnegie Endowment, an organization with an income of $10,000,000 to spend for international peace. In 1912 he won the Nobel Peace Prize...
Dying of cancer in her sixties in a Pacific coast boom town, with loutish roomers clumping overhead and with no love left for her patient, tender, ineffectual husband, Myra was bitter over her self-defeat, until the end. Passion had made her a lowly bed; she had writhed on it for years. She still could laugh at some of life's absurdities. Some of its beauty was still warm to her-Heine's poems, her own lovely hands. But her steely pride was turned upon itself, 'her mortal enemy. Not even religion could resign...