Word: fats
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Dates: during 1930-1939
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Aboard the German liner Bremen when she reached quarantine last week was a fat, middle-aged man who was listed as Herr Bennett Nash. Herr Nash, a lonely fellow, had spent most of the crossing in the ship's bar drinking whiskey neat. Surrounded by reporters and photographers, he smiled nervously, praised the skyline in guttural English, tried to explain that he was in the U. S. to pay a debt. Before he could finish his explanation Army officers whisked him away to forbidding old Castle William on Governor's Island, where he was given a pair...
...balance the Federal budget at once. I say to him-'How?' Sometimes he says-'How should I know? That is your job.' Sometimes he says-'Cut the budget straight through 10% or 20%.' Then I take from my desk drawer a fat book and it is apparent at once that he never has seen or read the budget of the Government of the United States...
...spite of an earlier bit of snootiness on the part of Lady Lindsay, wife of the British Ambassador to the U. S. (see p. 15),* the King and Queen got a good press last week in the U. S. as well as Canada. Some of the credit went to fat, genial Walter S. Thompson, chief publicity agent of the Canadian National Railway System and pressherd of the Royal Tour. Some went to the press itself, which was notably well behaved. Most of it went to the King and Queen, who cor rected the mistakes of some of their representatives...
...salaries submitted to SEC, A. G. & E. recorded paying one Ben Grey $55,000 for eleven months' work in 1937. Promptly SEC raised an astonished eyebrow. Who, it asked was this mysterious person and what service had he performed for A. G. & E. to earn such a fat fee? Last week A. G. & E. Vice President Fred F. Burroughs appeared unhappily before SEC to explain. Fidgeting, he told SEC Lawyer Lewis Dabney that Ben Grey was a short man with a blond mustache whose job had been "to mix with the right people" in Washington. No, Mr. Burroughs stoutly...
From the sprawling Consolidated Aircraft Corp. factory on Lindbergh Field a huge flying boat waddled down to land-locked San Diego Bay one day last week. In the bright California sun her slim wing looked absurdly frail, her huge hull with its upswept stern grotesquely fat. Nevertheless, her little band of professional observers knew they were watching a plane designed to be the last aerodynamic word...