Word: dusk
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Dates: during 1940-1949
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Five days a week, from dawn to dusk, U. S. radio networks carry some 60 serials. Designed to provide U. S. housewives with aural escapism, they account for about half of all radio time sales. They are especially important to the makers and advertisers of soap, who have used them so extensively during the past ten years that they have come to be known as "soap operas." Leading soap-opera impresario is Procter & Gamble, whose 15 serials keep millions of women bathed in Ivory and suspense. Responsible for four of P. & G.'s sudsy dramas is Irna Phillips...
...instrument of such uncanny accuracy, is a more primitive but certainly effective means of putting air projectiles down on the bull's-eye: dive bombing. Last week, from the Marne to the Scheldt, Nazi airmen in ungainly, single-motored Junkers Ju.87s were on the go from dawn to dusk, dropping out of the dazzling sun in near-vertical dives on docks, factories, ammunition dumps, railroad bridges-any target that could be knocked out with a hit from a heavy bomb. In news dispatches the word "Stuka" (Nazi elision for Sturzkampf-flugzeug-dive fighter) took on the connotation of "Cossack...
Arrangements will be made to have an enthusiastic delegation of Wellesley girls welcome the tired Vikings when at dusk they come within hailing distance of Tupelo Point on the lake. Members of the University, especially those owning faltboots, are urged to communicate with the Commodore, H.C.A.A. Flotilla, 14 Plympton Street, if they are interested in joining the odyssey...
...said Joe last week, "don't paint wings on me. I'm just a farmer." Down on the Bridgeboro, N. J. farm is where Joe got his Galahad strength. Last week he got up at 5:30 every morning and worked till dusk pruning the farm's 7,000 apple and peach trees. But Joe is no hang-jaw hayseed. At the University of Pennsylvania his marks averaged...
High over droughty Kansas, one afternoon last week, a U. S. Army bomber flew into a dust storm. Lieut. Harold Neely eased his ship out of the sudden dusk and up to 11,000 feet, where the air was clear. Noting that the gasoline gauge was low, he turned on an auxiliary tank. Both motors spat, stopped. The plane nosed into a slow, singing glide. Pilot Neely peered down at the billowing, blinding sea of dust between him and the ground. Small indeed were his chances of landing safely. On the plane's interphone he spoke an order...