Word: cabined
(lookup in dictionary)
(lookup stats)
Dates: during 1930-1939
Sort By: most recent first
(reverse)
...Sopwith could not come anywhere near beating. She was Velsheda, built for Chain-store Tycoon W. L. Stephenson by Charles E. Nicholson who designed the Shamrocks. Velsheda was rigged according to the new international rules which provide that racing craft may have light duralumin masts but must have full cabin accommodations for owners and crew, and must have gear-handling equipment on deck (not below deck as on Harold Stirling Vanderbilt's sleek Cup-winner Enterprise). Mr. Sopwith commissioned Designer Nicholson to build him a yacht even faster than Velsheda. He will call her Endeavor and, contrary to British...
...Brown because no one would believe that Billy Hill (he was christened William Joseph) was not just a parody on hillbilly. Louis Bernstein, president of Shapiro, Bernstein & Co. urged Hill to go to New York where he wrote "They Cut Down the Old Pine Tree," "There's a Cabin in the Pines," "Louisville Lady" and "Have You Ever Been Lonely?", songs which made names for themselves but not for Billy Hill...
...seemed to have had too much to drink. His luggage included a smallbore rifle and cartridges. (It later developed that he was expected to compete in a shoot at Chicago's North Shore Gun Club.) And he was extraordinarily fussy about taking a brown-paper parcel into the cabin with him. The porter decided Mr. Smith's behavior was not ominous enough to warrant reporting. He slammed the cabin door shut and in a moment No. 23 roared away-a big twin-motored Boeing of the latest design-with its two passengers, its crew of two pilots...
...felt I would have to break out of the cabin. I suppose doctors would call it aquaphobia. I'm a bundle of nerves. I guess I'm getting too old for these stunts." [He is 36.] Ill when he took off from Lympne, Eng land, Sir Charles suffered from lack of sleep. Typical excerpts from his log : 'Feel pretty sick. Had worst scare when forced to descend to 200 feet be cause I thought I was fainting. . . . Pos-sibly [tailwinds] are blowing higher up but am afraid to go up lest, feeling suddenly faint, I might...
From his little cabin studio at Peterboro, N. H.'s artistic MacDowell Colony, Edwin Arlington Robinson, dean of U. S. poets, has dispatched another of his quiet psychological narratives. Talifer, fitting with predictable neatness into its appropriate place in the Robinson canon, adds little, detracts not at all, from the reputation its author's earlier books have won him. Repeating in tempo and style its immediate predecessors, it marks another notch in his descent into poetic...