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Word: criers (lookup in dictionary) (lookup stats)
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...this little town together to elect a new mayor. . . . Since I speak German fluently, I opened the meeting, and . . . Herr , owner of the local inn, took over and read a previously made-up list of names for the posts of mayor, assistant mayor, town clerk, treasurer, and town crier. He asked anybody who had any objections to raise his hand...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Letters, Jun. 25, 1945 | 6/25/1945 | See Source »

Even his best friends disagreed about the Town Crier's real nature. Acid Poetess Dorothy Parker believed he had "done more kindness than anyone I have ever known." Novelist Edna Ferber called him a "New Jersey Nero who mistook his pinafore for a toga." Sometimes his most devoted admirers found his cantankerousness hard to bear. "I find you are beginning to disgust me, puss," he once snarled at a guest. "How about getting the hell out of here...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Books: Pumblechook | 7/31/1944 | See Source »

...afternoon last week trucks loaded with troops of a Waffen SS (armed elite guard) unit drove up to the farm village of Oradour-sur-Glane, in central France. In a few moments the town crier made the rounds, ordered everyone to assemble at the fair grounds...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: World Battlefronts: Murder at Oradour | 7/24/1944 | See Source »

Jack Towers, who began his flying career in 1911 and has stuck with aviation ever since, has never been a crier-out against the Navy's slowness in exploiting air power. But he has been a privately bitter critic. In 1942 the Navy shipped him out to Pearl Harbor as Commander of Air in the Pacific, a high-sounding title for a smothered, largely administrative assignment. Now Aviator Towers, well out of the doghouse, towers at the right hand of the Pacific's canny commander-in-chief, Admiral Chester Nimitz...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Army & Navy - COMMAND: New Jobs, New Stars | 2/21/1944 | See Source »

Manhattan's volubly witty Town Crier, the late Alexander Woollcott, had ten light literary fingers in a good many more pies, but what endeared him to his admirers was his habit of pulling out the juiciest borrowed plums in public with a happy little verbal smirk that meant: "What a smart boy am I." Last month he did it again (posthumously) in Long, Long Ago, a very satisfactory second course to his highly comestible While Rome Burns (TIME, March 12, 1934). Most of Wooll-cott's plums are still on the sugary side, but the best ones have...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Books: Wit's End | 12/6/1943 | See Source »

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