Word: brass
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Dates: during 1940-1949
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...mere drop in the bucket compared to the yearly earnings, but Cocoris feels leery about making too many alterations. The interior of Jake Wirth's next door has hardly been changed since the turn of the century, nor has anyone ever thought seriously of ripping off the Gay Nineties brass button and black leather effects at Locke Ober's several blocks away. Some of the waiters, who have themselves been part of the scenery for twenty years or more, are disappointed that he is not planning to take out the old-fashioned, unupholstered, narrow booths. But John Cocoris, immaculate, white...
...After five weeks of exploring the wastes of Antarctica,* Rear Admiral Richard Evelyn Byrd was back in Washington. Though most Americans were surprised to see him home so soon, a small crowd of crew relatives, reporters and top Navy brass stood in a drizzle to watch the intrepid Admiral debark from the polar flagship, U.S.S. Mount Olympus...
While Geneva Gastons waited for facts, figures, and brass-tack concessions, delegates aired a show-me attitude toward U.S. willingness to buy from the world as much as she sold to the world. Dr. J. E. Holloway, head of the delegation from the Union of South Africa, was hopeful but skeptical. Said he: "[America] will, I hope, forgive us some little anxiety. She stands at the crossroads where her traditional antipathy to the free flow of international trade diverges from her new role as world leader. She seems to stand there in vacillating acceptance of her eminent and high destiny...
...morning, through the streets of Boston to the historic square--"if we live that long"--the band will treat the onlookers to old favorites by Sousa, Lithgow, Hall, and others, as well as some lesser-known marches. Prokoffief and Milhand will be conspicuous by their absence when the brass biares forth such martial strains as R. B. Hall's "S.I.B.A. March," which the band fondly dedicates to the Staten Island Boilermakers' Association...
...when the cathedral priests, noticing how he hung around the towers, appointed him chief bellringer. He promptly quit his obnoxious little job as a printer and moved into a tiny stone room high up in the cathedral's east tower. There he installed a little stove, a rickety brass bed, an altar decorated with winged cherubs. There he has lived ever since, among the pigeons, and the owls which perch on the parapets after dark...