Word: clerke
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...hiker, he walked four miles to his courtroom every morning until he was past 75: "I shall continue the practice until that final morning when, fittingly. I shall fall backward head over heels down the courthouse steps." He detested barking dogs and chewing gum,, once assaulted a quailing law clerk with: "Sonny! We have come to a parting of the ways. I smell Spearmint again." But in some rare areas his ignorance was monumental. "I don't know what Mickey Mantle is or does," he once complained...
When Russian Cipher Clerk Igor Gouzenko defected from the Soviet embassy in Ottawa in 1945 with documents exposing a Soviet spy ring, he had considerable trouble finding anyone in Ottawa to defect to. He called fruitlessly at the Justice Minister's office, vainly told his story to the Ottawa Journal, was finally taken in tow by the Ottawa police only after embassy goons broke into his apartment. Last week, in a sadly wiser world, Dr. Mikhail Antonovich Klotchko, 59, a leading Soviet inorganic chemist, in Canada to attend the 18th International Congress of Theoretical and Applied Chemistry...
Each summer for 16 years, the citizens of Mayenne (pop. 10,000), a river town 150 miles west of Paris, had pleaded with Maggie Mae McRacken, now a 48-year-old widow and a $50-a-week sales-clerk in a Charlotte, N.C., sundries shop, to come and visit them. But for reasons of health, family responsibility, finances and natural reticence, Maggie McRacken never got to Mayenne-until last week. Then, she and the townfolk of Mayenne finally met at the end of an intensely sentimental journey...
...come here?" asked a salesgirl wonderingly. "Why does anyone come here?" Quipped a bitter bartender: "Have a socialist drink: crush one potato in a glass, drink it fast and try to think of vodka." "Shall I describe how it is to live here?" sneered a girl government clerk. "It stinks...
...letters cover his youth as a journeyman printer in New Orleans with his brother Jeff, his tour of duty in Washington as clerk in the Treasury and the Indian Bureau of the Interior Department and his stint as a volunteer male nurse in the gruesome military hospitals of the Civil War. Leaving his clerk's desk in the afternoon, "Loving Old Walt" (as he liked to sign himself) checked in at one of the huge whitewashed dressing stations near the capital. It is easy to raise a coarse snigger at the ambiguity of Whitman's motives for playing...