Word: dins
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Dates: during 1930-1939
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Tamiris (née Helen Becker) was born in Manhattan 30 years ago of a Jewish family. She learned to dance first in the din of Brooklyn's streets, under the elevated tracks. Later she studied with the Metropolitan Opera Ballet and briefly in the Isadora Duncan and Fokine schools. In 1929 she was the only dancer at Austria's Salzburg Festival, startled sedate Europeans by her renditions of jazz and Negro spirituals. In spite of her formal training, Tamiris considers herself largely self-schooled, likes to think of her dancing as part of an indigenous...
...This din Kansas' irrepressible William Allen White likened in London to a throb of "Moley, Moley, Moley, Lord God Almighty." While the New York Times dubbed Almighty Moley a "Professor ex Machina," the wonder of his rise was neatly satirized by scathing Frank R. Kent in the Baltimore Sun: "It must, when he tucks himself in bed at night . . . seem to him like a dream. Sometimes he must ask himself: Is it real-am I Moley?' Less than a year ago, Dr. Moley was an obscure professor at Columbia University. . . . Previously he had been an instructor...
Denver's Champa Street shrilled one day last week with the din of hundreds of urchins pushing their way to the front of the Denver Post building. At the head of the line each youngster was given two ice cream cones, a handful of cakes, a hearty invitation to come up the line again for more. This was the Post's Annual Free Ice Cream & Cake Party for Denver's children. The Post that day front-paged hot weather reports from other parts of the U. S. under the big, black headline: COLORADO IS COOLER. ... It announced...
...most important U. S. composers. But New Yorkers who went to last week's Philadelphia Orchestra concert were not deeply impressed by the fact that Conductor Eugene Ormandy had chosen to play Sowerby's Prairie. Listeners for whom most modern music is synonymous with unfathomable din were asked to imagine themselves alone in an Illinois cornfield far away from railways, motorcars, telephones and radios...
Behind a barrier of Secret Service guards President-elect Roosevelt stood up in his car, waved his arms at the panicky onlookers. His clear voice rang strongly above the din: "I'm all right! I'm all right." His car started out of the packed people. Somebody jumped on the running board yelling: "Mayor Cermak's shot." Mr. Roosevelt had the car stopped. "Good Lord!" he exclaimed. "Bring him here. Put him in my car." Supported by William Wood, Dade County Democratic leader, Chicago's "World's Fair Mayor,"* sagging with shock, was lifted into...