Word: carful
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Dates: during 1940-1949
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Early one spring morning in 1945, the Rev. Archie Mitchell and his 26-year-old wife rounded up five of their Sunday-school class, drove into the mountains near Bly, Ore. for a day's fishing. Luck was bad at first and Mitchell walked back for the car. Returning, he saw the rest of the party gathered in a semicircle, curiously examining a mysterious object they had discovered in the woods. The kids had stumbled upon one of the 9,000 balloon bombs launched from Japan against the U.S. West Coast...
...deficits but both have met loud protest from the groups who will have to pay. First, he wanted the State legislature to determine that the MTA lines and the subways were "highways" and, as such, were to be maintained by the receipts from gasoline and other automotive taxes. The car owners objected to this plan; they argued that persons who paid a gas tax were the least likely to use the MTA. And this program was disregarded entirely early this year, when the State Supreme Court ruled such action illegal...
Anyone who waits long enough in the Harvard Square station of the Metropolitan Transit Authority's system will see one of the MTA's "new" trains. It has a coat of shining orange paint, fan ventilators and padded seats; but underneath is the outmoded hulk of a 1926 transit car model. In general, that's what is wrong with the entire MTA set-up--it is only a veneer, covering up but not eliminating the financial structure of the Boston Elevated Railway Company that it replaced...
Nobody expected a pickup soon. In spite of the Ford strike, new cars were rolling out of Detroit at a rate of more than 5,000,000 a year. Some new car dealers were feeling a sag in their own sales (Kaiser-Frazer Corp. this week reported a $5.8 million loss in the first quarter). They were once more offering bigger trade-in allowances than they could get for the used cars. By summer's end, some of 1949's new cars would be showing up on used-car lots, to add to the glut. Both...
...grey Ford whipped along the back-country gravel roads, stirring up a trail of dust. Braking to a stop alongside a flat field, the car's slight and sunburned driver sighted down mile-long rows of tiny green shoots, planted the week before. "Ain't that beautiful?" grinned Lester Pfister. He raced on to another field, wiggled his wiry 126 lbs. through a barbed-wire fence, and squatted on the ground where one of his tractors had just passed. "Everything's good," he said, feeling the soil. "You can tell it's time for planting when...