Word: crackerjacks
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Died. Frederick William Rueckheim Jr., 63, president of Crackerjack Co. of Chicago; in Tucson, Ariz...
...sewer gang foreman, James Petrillo, who likes to be called "The Mussolini of Music," was born in 1892 on Chicago's slummy West Side. He spent a precarious childhood selling newspapers, running elevators up & down Loop buildings, driving a horse & cart, peddling crackerjack and peanuts on a North West ern Railroad train. Young Petrillo played the trumpet, but so badly that the only jobs he could get were at picnics. On this account he went into politics. He served three years as vice president of the Chicago Federation of Musicians before he became its president in 1922. Highest-priced...
...Thanksgiving dinner at Hyde Park to rush to Boston where Son Franklin Jr. lay abed with what was described to the press as "sinus trouble." The young man did have infected sinuses, and he was in the capable, Republican hands of Dr. George Loring Tobey Jr., a fashionable and crackerjack Boston ear, nose & throat specialist. He also had a graver affliction, septic sore throat, and there was danger that the Streptococcus haemolyticus might get into his blood stream. Once there the germs might destroy the red cells in his blood. In such a situation, a rich and robust Harvard crewman...
...Only one crackerjack new cartoonist has emerged in the campaign, and only one crackerjack new cartoon character. The first created the second. Early in the year, lean, bushy-haired Clarence Daniel Batchelor sat down at his board in the New York News office, drew a petulant, pot-bellied little man, naked except for a silk hat, labeled him "Old Deal." This character, funny yet forceful, caught the public fancy at once, grew famed when Cartoonist Batchelor pictured him perched pensively on a rock high over Washington, reflecting, "Gawd, how I hate his guts." Since then "Old Deal" has boasted, blustered...
Waiting in Topeka for the Presidential nomination was just like waiting in your office for a field crew to bring in an oil well. Alf Landon, as an experienced oilman and politician, felt pretty sure the nomination was there. He knew his field boss, John Hamilton, was a crackerjack and would make no mistakes. Whether it proved to be just an average political well or a magnificent gusher did not matter an awful lot. Main thing was to get into pay sand and bring it into actual production. Until that was done, Alf Landon knew it was unlucky as well...