Word: claypoolers
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...powwow and campaign curtain-raising ceremonies, their mood was confident, almost jubilant. They were a far cry from the bruised, battered and bewildered Democrats of a few months ago. They had sampled victory in Maine, and it tasted good. Through the ornate, musty corridors, bars and bedrooms of the Claypool Hotel wafted the savory odors of more goodies in November. The Democrats could hardly wait...
Edward J. Dowling is a pretty big man in Indianapolis. Fact is, only a couple of weeks ago Ed was elected president of Rotary. But the boys had to get along without Ed at the Tuesday luncheons at the Claypool because he was off traveling. Ed's the kind of a fellow who, when he decides to go some place, throws some socks and shaving stuff into a bag and starts. Eighteen months ago he sold his business (chocolate-covered cherries) and decided to see some of the world, maybe combine traveling with a little business. Ed asked...
...Indianapolis for their 80th Encampment this week went the twelve sturdiest of the Grand Army of the Republic's 84* surviving members. They needed their sturdiness. To G.A.R.'s ancients the raucous bedlam swirling around their chairs in the lobby of the Claypool Hotel was almost as terrifying as Pickett's charge at Gettysburg. But after 2,000 members of the Midwest Federation of Syrian Lebanon Clubs had packed up their tom-toms and left town, the old soldiers began to get attention...
...introduced to the Prince by Oscar Wilde at a London garden party, who called them "the two most beautiful per sons at the party." Died. General John Milton Claypool, 98, unreconstructed Confederate, twice national commander in chief of the United Confederate Veterans; of pneumonia; in St. Louis. Once, reluctantly agreeing to attend a Union-Confederate reunion at Gettysburg, he magnanimously conceded: "Since the Lord has put up with the Yankees all this time, I guess...
...Indianapolis, McNutt-for-President headquarters in the Claypool Hotel have been humming since last winter, in constant touch with the High Commissioner to the Philippines in Manila. That office and Paul McNutt's friends were ready with an efficiently stage-managed homecoming celebration. The timing was just about perfect. Now was the season for political bands, bunting, oratory, ballyhoo. Here was a candidate who could stride upon the national stage like a handsome Ulysses returning from labors abroad to hurl fear and respect into the hearts of Democracy's home-hugging suitors. It mattered not that the welcoming...