Word: dinners
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Dates: during 1920-1929
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Anyway, no amount of agitation will secure the Negroes either the ballot or dinner invitations...
...menu: Breakfast- Rolled oats with milk and sugar, Parker House rolls, butter, coffee and jelly. Dinner-Fried pork chops, cream gravy, mashed potatoes, bread, cottage pudding and coffee. Supper-Cold lunch, ham, stewed fruit, bread...
...without Portfolio"-a curious title for a joke-smith. The braided butler of the consular drawing-room chants it through his thorax, scorching the sibilants, booming the o's. The company stares at the newcomer. Famous women turn, over ivory shoulders, a glance cool with appraisal; gentlemen in dinner shirts striped with impossible decorations raise their monocles or feel for their small arms while he shambles into the room-"Viva, l'Ambassadeur." He wears an old grey suit. A jazbo necktie adorns, but fails to hide, the golden collar-stud. His shoes, surely, have never been denied...
...Conkling is a roving gas engineer who plays the violin. Mrs. Sidney Erskine Brewster, petite and 26, did not guard the letters he wrote her with discretion. Mr. Brewster, 29, was an aviator, Manhattan scion, grew not to perceive the jest, killed his wife as she was dressing for dinner clad only in her chemise, killed himself. What editor or printer's devil in the U. S. does not know that? But what editor asked: "Who is Roscoe Platt Conkling? A descendant of 19th Century Manhattan Republican Boss Roscoe Conkling? A namesake of Roscoe's voter-bludgeoning henchman...
...Those who obeyed the timetable, found themselves in a park roofed by tall trees. Some dined sumptuously at a restaurant and danced to jazz; others stocked up at the hot-dog stand, or picnicked at rustic tables in the woods; others arrived in evening frocks and white flannels, from dinner parties at Lake Forest or Winnetka. Two thousand spectators sat under a high wooden canopy. (It keeps the rain out and keeps the music within.) Many others sat on the grassy slopes counting stars, spellbound, one night last week, by strains of Puccini...