Word: doormen
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Armies of people in the U.S. hate it with a consuming hatred. English writers and visitors from west of the Hudson are continually appalled by it; by its dirt, its tip-hungry doormen, its bigness, its gangs of savage street urchins, and the humid horror of its tropical summers. To Britain's Novelist J. B. Priestley, Broadway is "an angry carbuncle ... a thoroughfare in Hell where you take your choice between idiotic films . . . and shops crammed with schoolboy tricks." Jean-Paul Sartre, the high priest of France's Existentialism, spoke of "this desert of rock" and also complained...
...March 18, the employees of the Harvard Club staged a demonstration in protest against what they considered stalling tactics by the management. At 12:55 P.M. the kitchen staff, porters, bartenders, bellboys, doormen, and cleaning staff left their posts and congregated in the locker rooms for an exhibition of solidarity. Fifteen minutes later management representatives came down to the locker rooms and informed the demonstrators that they were no longer employed by the Harvard Club. When the employees refused to leave the building, they were ejected by the police...
...violent temper tantrums. It is a dull day in the grimy, ill-lit building near the Place de la Bourse when only four or five storms blow out of the tiny office where tiny (5 ft. 2 in.) Editor in Chief Pierre Lazareff sits, guarded by two doormen and five secretaries...
...Communist ruling clique. The other was lantern-jawed, indomitable Stanislaw Mikolajczyk, leader of the anti-Communist Polish Peasant Party who, of all Polish public figures today, enjoys perhaps the highest popularity and the lowest life-expectancy. The two neighbors, though they shared the same Tommy-gun-toting doormen, the same postman and the same erratic central heating, were not on speaking terms. They were engaged in an implacable battle leading up to a grave finale: Poland's long-delayed national elections, now scheduled...
After sunset, tens of thousands of New Yorkers and visitors to the big city feel a lemming-like urge to go nightclubbing. The way is usually beset by obstacles and hazards: doormen dressed like admirals, headwaiters with manners like Gestapo agents, blonde Mata Haris of the checkroom, silk ropes, and other frustrated pilgrims awaiting admission. But the lemmings are not discouraged; they bribe, push and plead for the privilege of paying $8 to $125 a couple for dining, drinking blended rye at saucer-sized tables, breathing smoke and carbon monoxide and getting their eardrums clouted by a boogie woogie beat...