Word: bricked
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Dates: during 1940-1949
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Imperial Industrial Corp., under its portly, bespectacled President Max Kortlander, occupies the third floor of a rambling brick factory in the upper fringes of The Bronx. It seldom advertises, does much of its retailing through big concerns like Sears, Roebuck and Manhattan's R. H. Macy & Co. Its customers are mostly U.S. farm families. To this small but steady market, Imperial sells approximately half a million pianola rolls a year. Biggest current sellers: When the Lights Go on Again, Moonlight Becomes You, The Beer Barrel Polka, Let Me Call You Sweetheart, Ah! Sweet Mystery of Life, The Star-Spangled...
...Beloved Ben") Tillett, 82, pioneer British labor leader; three days after the death of his equally famed coorganizer, John ("Honest John") Burns; in London. Their fiery oratory and skillful leadership rooted socialism in the English working classes. Ben Tillett ran away from home at eight, worked in a brick factory and a circus, then went to sea, where a Scottish mate taught him to read and write. After a few voyages he quit the Navy to become a shoemaker, then a warehouse hand, in London's East End. Before he was 30 he promoted the Dock, Wharf, Riverside...
Eyewitnesses said the building seemed to fold up like a pack of cards, trapping most of the children under the wreckage and blasting others against a brick wall. Fires broke out. For the next few days Civil Defense workers, fathers & mothers of the victims and American and British soldiers labored to recover the dead and wounded. Many mothers learned the worst from the little shoes and blue hats & coats laid out neatly in a nearby church...
Surface & Depth. When news of his recall reached the White House, a hurried telephone call went to the little brick headquarters on Embassy Row-very nearly the first time the telephone had rung there in nine months. General Hsiung, finally, received an invitation to talk to Franklin Roosevelt. With his interpreter, Captain M. H. Robert Lee, he went to the White House, cooled his heels for a half hour, finally spoke to the President...
Veronika lit her improvised lamp-a cup of kerosene with a twisted thread for a wick-and made breakfast: water-thin gruel, black bread and brick tea brewed on the pechka. When it was ready she woke 16-year-old Grusha, fed her and, with an endearing Nichevo, sent her off to work in a war plant. Eight-year-old Fanya tied her ragged valenkis on her feet and went off to school. "Nichevo, Mama, I am not very hungry," she said...