Word: fowl
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Dates: during 1920-1929
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...Those sacks you see the natives carrying along the white roads on Sunday morning contain the coxcomb choir. They are going to the cockpits, where a knife, a flask of bitter liquor, volleys of cheers and curses, the chink of coin, the spurt of dust and blood -not always fowl blood-spell life's zest for the brown-skinned jibaro (peasant). Porto Rican poets hymn the sport as the essence of manhood and beauty...
Galapagos Islands (private recreation). Off the equatorial west coast of South America lie the Galapagos Islands, longtime home of quaint fowl and ancient reptiles, onetime base of buccaneer expeditions. Now Ecuador owns and the U. S. explores them. Most recent pryers about the islands have been William K. Vanderbilt II and his wife, trapping sapphire-eyed cormorants, penguins pompous as bartenders, Galapagos tortoises with leathery shells, fish whose pied throats pulsate languidly. Such catch Mr. Vanderbilt carried on his yacht Ara to Miami, Fla., where on an off-shore island he maintains his private aquarium and tropical bird reservation...
Currituck Sound. N. C., is dotted around with cement-floored pits where men of leisure take their ease in wintry weeks to shoot wild fowl. Theodore Douglas Robinson, Assistant Secretary of the Navy, is no man of leisure. Last week, waiting on an island in Currituck for a Navy plane to fetch him and his dead ducks, Mr. Robinson grew impatient. Currituck was freezing. The Navy must be run. Up he got and helped his guide push, pole and slide their boat through Currituck ice to the mainland...
...Newark, N. J., Mae C. Collins, 307 pounds, waddled into a butcher shop. On the walls hung red, juicy, uncooked animals. Under the glass counter reposed cool, damp, bulging joints of beef. On the counter, in the icebox, lay bloody fowl; flaccid livers; grisly, delicious knuckles; dainty, pink and white lamb chops. The gullet of Mae C. Collins gaped a little. Her small, pleasant, piggy eyes, twinkling behind rolls of fat as round and red as hamburgers, finally fixed on a ponderous porterhouse steak. Seizing it, she waddled out of the butcher shop...
...while he explained the young wife's earnest efforts, in the next room, to quicken the corpse. His double-meanings, the play's liveliest, are neatly turned. Playwright Dorranee Davis has woven an ancient habiliment for his modern comedy. Because it is not fish of the Restoration, fowl of the Jazz Age, or flesh of sound drama, it fritters off into neglibility...