Word: functioned
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Dates: during 1920-1929
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With the end of May the season of the Spring Proms reaches its climax, and in colleges all over the country tuxedoes are being resurrected and weather prophesies anxiously scanned. Tonight comes the Freshman Jubilee, the one great social function of the first year men and the last oasis before plunging into the expansive and arid regions of final exams. The Red Book has appeared and as ever outgoes its predecessors in all important points, the last lecture of History 1 has ended with vociferous applause, and all that remains in to fulfill the social amenities...
Patrick J. Farrell of Vermont and the District of Columbia, to succeed John Jacob Esch on the Interstate Commerce Commission. President Coolidge had tried to keep Mr. Esch, but the Senate repeatedly refused to believe that Mr. Esch had not overinterpreted the Commission's function and power. Mr. Farrell, Canadian-born, had been retained as counsel for 27 years by the I. C. C., latterly as chief counsel. He is a Democrat, but party is supposed to be forgotten...
...student is narrowly limited in its beneficial possibilities, it is, none the less, a factor of some weight, especially in the Freshman year. The outstanding limitation of the present system of Faculty Advisors is their distance from the lives and needs of the average Freshman. They discharge their function of maping out study plans at the beginning of the year with admirable ability, but thereafter the relation, if any, between student and advisor is usually an artificial one. A more natural relation inevitably exists between the student and his course instructors. The Freshmen are necessarily acquainted with these instructors...
Last week, in Manhattan, a checker at the customs pier noticed a large wooden box with a loose board. Thinking it a good chance for performing his function, the checker stood next the box and reached in with one hand. Feeling the touch of some clammy thing, a wolf or a corpse perhaps, he screamed "I am bitten," and ran furiously along the pier. A less timid checker then went gingerly up to the box and pried it open. In the bottom of the box, cold and still alive, was scatterbrained John Thoening. He said he had not eaten...
...segregated existence, predicates a punch of the button for mechanical medical service, punch of another for compound food tablets, another for a lecture, and yet another for a symphony. But gradually the music goes bad, the artificial air fouls, and the great god machine deteriorates quickly to utter non-function, vomiting its inhabitants up dark passages to death from unaccustomed contact with fellow creatures, or from the unexpurgated air of the earth's surface...