Word: buttons
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Dates: during 1920-1929
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...They are those of an unamed young lady who was acquitted of murder by a weeping judge and jury in Arkansas, went into cinema, and has since been pursuing her education in Manhattan under the care and guidance of a gentleman named Gus Eisman. The latter is in the button profession in Chicago, and she calls him "Daddy" only when a place does not seem too public. He is against her going into cinema because his mother was "authrodox." At home and abroad she conducts herself with innocent circumspection, going from Ritz to Ritz with her colored Lulu, picking...
President Coolidge pressed a button in the White House. No secretary or stenographer entered; no uniformed blackamoor thrust his head around a screen, but far away in Chicago a gong rang; the lights in the huge amphitheatre of the Chicago Riding Club flashed on; a fine brass band assisted by a $50,000 organ struck up successively the national anthems of Belgium, France, England, the U. S., while a mighty shout arose from the crowd. National Horse Show had begun...
...shakes his head as if a drop of water had landed on him. This is usually enough to discourage most sockers. In Buffalo last week, it discouraged Jimmy Goodrich, who was at the moment lightweight champion of the world. He had just socked Rocky Kansas, challenger, flush on the button. It was the middle of the second round. Throughout the first, Rocky (a hairy 133-pound bullyboy, battered and be-cauliflowered by innumerable brawls) had come plunging in at a pace that would surely be impossible for him to keep up for 15 rounds. Goodrich waited his chance. Kansas...
According to despatches, "a powerful electric bell" has been installed under the seat of every deputy in the Italian Chamber. All are wired to sound in unison at the pressure of a button on the President's bench. "It is not within the power of mortals to withstand the racket. . . . During today's session the device was inaugurated when the deputies waxed tumultuous over a minor point. . . Their shouts were instantly overwhelmed and quieted by the artificial...
...whether or not the players enjoy the game, I don't believe the undergraduates, nor the graduates, nor the general public care a brass button, any more than the Roman populace cared whether the gladiators enjoyed the game of slaying one another, so long as it was given a "Roman Holiday." Nor any more than the spectators care whether Jack Dempsey or Georges Carpentier enjoy being punched and mauled and knocked out. I find that this is the point of view of those I have asked, and I do not claim to be different from the rest. Nobody cares about...