Word: gangplank
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Paper Blizzards. After landing at Galeao airport, the presidential party was taken across the bay in a Brazilian naval launch. At the Touring Club dock, Harry Truman hopped out briskly, strode up the red-carpeted gangplank to greet Brazil's President Eurico Caspar Dutra and his wife "Dona Santinha." Sitting side by side, the two Presidents drove for six miles along the flag-lined streets between long lines of Brazilian soldiery. Cheering crowds lined every inch of the way. Blizzards of paper fell from the taller buildings. Standing up in the car, Harry Truman waved amiably to yells...
Loneliest Night. The first refugee came down the Vigour's gangplank peacefully. They kept coming for three hours. British soldiers helped them carry their bundles. Then, suddenly, in one of the holds refugees broke into their song Going Home ("Never say that we are treading our last path, our grey days will become sunny days . . ."), and refused to budge. The British soldiers tried to push or carry them off the boat. They got tougher with some recalcitrants, but the British later declared that casualties had been negligible...
...mile, three-month trip. As the great, grey battleship that had carried them so far slid gracefully into her home berth once more, Princess Elizabeth was so excited that she broke into a dance step. "Oh," cried a dockside onlooker, as the Duke of Gloucester went bounding up the gangplank to greet his relatives, "it's good to have them back...
...debated which side to join. Last week, in a small-arms battle that raged below and across the ships' decks, they settled their argument. When Paraguay's Ambassador Alfonso Dos Santos rushed down to fix things for Morínigo, he was kicked bodily down the gangplank. Three officers went to the hospital. Then, under command of Lieut. Rolando Ibarra, the gunboats cast off, sailed away to join the revolutionists...
Down the Queen Elizabeth's gangplank and on to Manhattan's Pier 90 one day last week the British movie industry stepped. Waiting on the dock, like a stack of plump pillows at the end of a laundry chute, stood a half-dozen U.S. movie executives. As Cinemogul Joseph Arthur Rank saw them, he blinked and turned up his coat collar against the chill May morning. But then Arthur Rank's face broke into a smile. He strode forward. As the expectant executive smiles faded, he walked over and wrung the hand of Judge Lewis L. Fawcett...