Word: columnized
(lookup in dictionary)
(lookup stats)
Dates: during 1940-1949
Sort By: most recent first
(reverse)
Today Dahlhjelm makes $25,000 a year as manager. The Gilmore Co. rents seven and one-half acres to the market, gets a percentage of the gross. And Fred Beck gets $10,000 a year for writing his daily ad column. The Los Angeles Times obligingly permits his column to be set in the same typographical style as Hedda Hopper and Walter Lippmann, requires no "advertisement" identification at the head...
Beck does not talk prices. Instead he writes a chatter column, fictionalizing the personalities of the shopkeepers. ("The Grist Mill ... the darnedest bust you ever heard of ... is operated by a sad-eyed, spanielesque woman named Cora.") Sample treatment : "The trouble is that whenever we advertise something-demmit, people come in and buy it. And then we're out of that too. So today we have scoured the Farmers Market in search of something that nobody could ever have any use for ... and B-ruther-r-r we have found it. Eureka! . . . down at Manny Vezie's Gallery...
...Irish matter there is no argument in all Eire: the favorite Irish newspaper columnist is Brian O'Nolan, who writes for Dublin's Irish Times. He is small, dark, young (31). The impish O'Nolan, a novelist, playwright and civil servant, writes a six-a-week column titled Cruiskeen Lawn (The Little Overflowing Jug) under the pseudonym Myles na gCopaleen (pronounced Copaleen, means Myles of the Little Horses...
There is nothing like Cruiskeen Lawn or its author anywhere in English or American journalism. His column is written in what O'Nolan describes as "socalled English" three days of the week; in "the kingly and melodious Irish" on the other three. It is as atmospheric of Dublin as the flower-&-vegetable women of Moore Street, or the giant Nelson's pillar which keeps a bleak eye socket on the drizzled city. Because he works as Assistant Principal, Local Government and Public Health officer all week, O'Nolan writes all six columns on Sunday...
...Monstrous Pun. Like the late James Joyce, O'Nolan is a master of the monstrous pun. Erudite, ironic, he devotes many a column to the hilarious systematic destruction of literary cliches, to parodies of Eire's leprechaun literature and the red-taped verbiage of Government service, to absurd home-economics hints. He is an unsparing, beloved critic of devotees of Irish, who overuse Eire's national tongue; a subtler critic of the clerics, who are not unaware of his innuendo and high irony...