Word: existent
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Dates: during 1940-1949
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...weary and his voice was muffled by a head cold. But his spirits seemed as buoyant as the spring sun on the White House lawn. He read the first paragraph of his statement firmly: "The United Nations are fighting to make a world in which tyranny and aggression cannot exist; a world based upon freedom, equality and justice; a world in which all persons, regardless of race, color or creed, may live in peace, honor and dignity...
...will set the date for the Big Invasion. That date was set when the Allied command decided to invade, was and is being set, repeatedly, each time the commanders make decisions about the number of troops, the conditions of tide, the ammunition and oil stores, etc. that must exist before the attempt is made...
Always Vengeful, Sometimes Crazy. For the Fenwicks were "physically alive in a world in which they did not legally exist." One of their ancestors lost his head to King William for the political crime of losing his heart to King James. Parliament outlawed the rest of the clan. So disinherited Captain Jack Fenwick prowled the Pennsylvania frontier in 1764, soon became a legend. Tall, springy, savage, he became one of those Indian fighters who were as necessary to the colonists as corn. Captain Jack was always vengeful and sometimes a little crazy. For he remembered the night when...
...Street stooges . . . [are] safely sitting on top of the country. . . . [But] the people can, at any time they wish, throw the American Fascists out of control. . . ." The temperate New York Times asked sharply: "Who are the 'stooges' of Wall Street? . . . Who are these American Fascists? If they exist, Mr. Wallace should present us with their names and with concrete evidence against them. . . . Perhaps he is merely throwing . . . reckless charges and abusive language ... at people whose economic and political views differ from his own. . . . The Vice President of the United States, if anybody, ought to learn to weigh...
These raffish antics lead to some funny moments but a flimsy evening. Playwright Kirkland's low-lifers are not rich and genuine creations who need only exist to amuse; they are hell-raisers who can score only in action. Since Suds boasts no plot, the gals keep weaving in circles, as much from author-trouble as from beer...