Word: coked
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Dates: during 1940-1949
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Down to Earth. After nine years of research, H. A. Brassert Co. of New York City came up with a new trick in reducing ore to iron. By using anthracite instead of coke, Brassert can produce pure melting stock at $21 to $26 a ton (current average cost: $40); from the waste gas Brassert will make solid CO² (Dry Ice) at $15 a ton (present retail price: $35 to $65). In a new $1,250,000 iron-ice plant at New York, Brassert hopes to make enough the first year to pay off half the construction cost...
...daylight rate of one every three minutes. Scores of ten-ton trucks rolled out to meet them. One hundred and fifty G.I.s and German workers labored 24 hours a day to get them unloaded. In the orange and white control tower, 13 G.I.s worked around the clock, surrounded by Coke bottles, cigarette smoke, and the brassy chattering of radios. The chaotic chorus of American voices was tense but happy; America was in its element. "Give me an ETA* on EC 84 . . . That's flour coming in on EC 72 . . . Roger . . . Ease her down . . . Where the hell has 85 gone...
Then there were the ladies. Bustling and beribboned, Republican women were on hand in droves. Eyeing them, the New York Times's lean and waggish Meyer Berger wondered if the fate of the party might not be settled in "Coke-filled rooms." Tom Dewey's campaign workers wooed them wildly with gifts. They handed out bottles of deodorant, emery boards, silver polish, Life Savers, chocolate, chewing gum, cigarette holders, pocket combs-and brown paper sacks to carry all the boodle...
Johnson would run against ten other candidates in the July 24 Democratic primary. His most formidable opponent was 60-year-old ex-Governor Coke ("Calculatin' Coke") Stevenson, a conservative states-rights man. Coke's supporters offered to put him into a plane, too, but Coke replied, after a hard bite on his pipestem: "No, thanks. I'll keep my campaign down to earth...
...vibrate to the slamming progress of trains. Its lights and liver function with the noisy urgency of a tabloid pressroom. Its buses, trucks & cabs jostle through its arterial streets like stampeding steers. Torrents of humanity pour endlessly down its sidewalks. At night it glares like hell's hottest coke heap...