Word: codfish
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Dates: during 1930-1939
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Tomorrow there will be no classes; and a great number of Freshmen who have not had the good fortune of a codfish origin will wonder why there are no classes. Some few of these will have heard of Patriot's Day something as they have heard of Bastille Day; but to others the Lexington-Concord commemoration will be a complete novelty in the way of vacation alibis. To all, whether they admit it or not, the holiday will constitute a nuisance and an undesirable distraction...
That inimitable lunk, Mayor John P. O'Brien, who combines the effrontery of a lamp-post with the insouciance of a glassy-eyed codfish will leave New York the poorer for his passing, not only in the crassly material sense, but spiritually as well. For Honest John has in his own good way lightened the gloom of the morbidly shaded metropolis with the steady beam of a courage which has faced without flinching the unleashed terrors of double negatives, redundant participles, and hopelessly severed infinitives. Before the onslaught of mad sentences without verbs and facts without relevance his head remains...
...CRIMSON last night. "I hope they aren't as hard to please as the audiences we've been trying to please in Boston. In Baltimore a week ago we had really remarkable success, but up here it's one hard job arousing enthusiasm in a bunch of highbrow codfish...
President Roosevelt likes scrambled eggs, codfish balls, fried liver, seafoods. He does not care for sweets, seldom eats desserts. But he is not finicky about his food. He eats some of whatever may be on the table. For breakfast he regularly has two eggs, three rashers of bacon, two slices of toast, orange juice. On his sedentary boating vacation, he ate quantities of baked beans, gained 7 Ib. (174 Ib. to 181 Ib.). When he returned to Washington, looking fit as a bull fiddle, he declared last week he was going to lose that excess weight at once...
...Amberjack II on the sportiest, saltiest vacation the country had ever watched its President take. He dressed in old flannel trousers and a grey sweater under oil skins. He did not bother too much about shaving. Sun and spray tanned his face, widened his grin. He smacked over codfish balls, baked beans, brown bread. And even the crustiest old Down Easterners had to admit that he was a crackerjack seaman under full sail...