Word: breakfasting
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Dates: during 1940-1949
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...would last until 1947, the Alliance offered a "simple" prescription to those who want to break themselves of the filthy habit: i) chew 5? worth of gentian root (or camomile blossoms) every time the craving strikes; 2) take ½ teaspoonful each of Rochelle salts and cream of tartar before breakfast; 3) cut out highly seasoned foods and stimulating drinks; 4) shun all smokers and smoke-filled rooms; 5) take Turkish baths; 6) think of something else. But U.S. cigaret smokers, finding gentian root even more awkward to buy than fags, went right on smoking Strange Fruit, or whatever they were...
...Beach, wife of the novelist, phoned from her Manhattan hotel suite and was greeted by the switchboard operator with a cheery "Hotel Algonquin." Replied Mrs. Beach: ".Yes, I know." Asked the operator, "Is this 1106?" "No, it's 408, and I want to order breakfast." Operator: "There's no room service except Sunday." "Yes, there is: I've . . . had breakfast up here every day-and furthermore it's Sunday." Operator: "Sunday! My God, I'm not supposed to be here...
...stenography, from providing board & room for city working girls to running summer vacation camps for youngsters. Currently the Y.W. is hard at work in war zones, with some 20 rest and recreation centers (including a houseboat on the Nile at Cairo) which provide servicewomen with such occasional luxuries as breakfast in bed, hairdressers, tearooms...
...ridiculous manner." He wore tattered wigs and filthy shirts ("I have no love for cleanliness"), let his stockings droop around his ankles, ate so gluttingly that his veins protruded and he sweated violently. He could drink 25 cups of tea at a sitting, often gobbled eight peaches as a breakfast appetizer. He swilled his favorite medicine: "Dr. James's Powder for Fevers and Other Inflammatory Distempers." "I mind my belly very studiously," said he, "for I look upon it that he who does not mind his belly will hardly mind anything else." Fears and Friends. After his wife's death...
...Submerged in Petticoats." "He would come [down to] breakfast not too annoyingly cheerful, drink his fruit juice, and glance over the morning paper, making running comments. . . . The rest of the family would file down - sisters, sisters-in-law, female friends - until 'two rows of smiling women' flanked the table. 'I am submerged in petticoats!' Wilson would say, smiling." Between meals, the women of the house rarely saw him. Either he had gone to classes or faculty meetings on his bicycle ("turning the pedals neither too fast nor too slowly, cleanly and precisely as he did everything...