Word: flatting
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Dates: during 1940-1949
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...feel the same toward that flat-bottomed mud-splatterer of TIME as for the man who kicks my mother in the teeth. I would treat him the same. TIME has been getting by too long with stalking the Church, always ready to deliver a stab in the back. It has not the guts to come out in open opposition. The Church is aroused slowly, but when she does act, look out. The Catholics of San Francisco will take care of the News; the Catholics of the U.S. will take care of TIME...
...impression reminds one of "Life With Father," but there's a certain very big something that isn't there. While the capable performers are portraying their cleverly constructed roles, matters are pleasant. But in between, the emptiness of the whole thing stands out, and the final reaction is a flat neutrality. The comedy is first-rate, the play merely good...
...Modest Man. Harry Truman is the man in the grey suit, usually double-breasted. His college education consists of a brief spell at the Kansas City School of Law. He is an inconspicuous man with thin lips, steel-rimmed glasses, flatly combed grey hair, and a flat, not unpleasant Missouri twang...
...Broadway. All along the 51-mile route were crowds, heads covered with sodden newspapers or umbrellas, legs chilled by the wind, feet soaked. Water rolled down the President's cheeks and dripped from his chin, stood on the lenses of his pince-nez. His thinning hair was pasted flat, and the raindrops trickled down the sleeve of his right arm as he raised it again & again to the crowds. Sometimes there were cheers, and sometimes little more than the swish of heavy tires on the wet asphalt streets. Some people caught sight of his infectious grin, some never...
...train pulling Harry Truman's special car ground to a stop at flat, dusty Uvalde, Tex. As vestibule doors banged in the silence of the sunny afternoon, a little old man with a bright pink face came hurrying up to the train. It was ex-Vice President "Cactus Jack" Garner, the copilot whom Franklin Roosevelt had dropped in 1940. John Garner, now 75, was wearing a worn work shirt, buttoned at the throat, a pair of dingy pants. There was an outrageous twisted rope of cigar between his teeth and a faded ten-gallon hat pushed back...