Word: greyed
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Dates: during 1950-1959
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...first afternoon at the Point, with his grey hat pulled low against a chill drizzle, Ike plodded up and down the sidelines of Michie Stadium, watching the Army plebe football team play Colgate freshmen. "I don't like that. I don't like that at all. Let's put the cork in the bottle," he exclaimed as a Colgate back cracked through for yardage. The President, who once coached the plebe team, grinned broadly when Army hung onto a 12-7 lead until the final whistle. Next morning he fidgeted nervously outside the hotel waiting...
...around the octagonal table in the White House Cabinet Room. There Ike sat in his regular chair, back to the French doors leading to the Rose Garden. Across from him, in the chair usually reserved for Vice President Nixon, sat Harold Macmillan, a maroon cardigan sweater buttoned under his grey sack suit, the stump of a dead cigar in his hand. Their relationship, long friendly, grew closer during the week (although Ike called him "Harold," Macmillan stuck to "Mr. President"). So it was at other levels, e.g, as between Dulles and Great Britain's Foreign Secretary Selwyn Lloyd...
...whole campaign is to smear Republican Dalton as an all-out integrationist. and, except in the traditionally Republican mountain counties in the far western corner of Virginia, the campaign has worked. Some of Dalton's aides have quit, and his financing is poor. Today when tall, grey Ted Dalton shakes hands with a stranger and identifies himself, he is generally eyed with hostility. His audiences frequently number fewer than 100, and infrequently listen to his warning that Harry Byrd's anti-integration laws will be clipped by the Supreme Court† and leave nothing but turmoil for Virginia...
...another time, in another place, the jittery man in the grey flannel, red-trimmed suit might have been carted off to the booby hatch. He jerked, jiggled, tugged at his cap. He scratched and spat. In front of 61,207 at Yankee Stadium, and 40 million more on TV, he shuddered through two hours of spasms. But no one who watched the Yankees and the Braves in the last game of the World Series last week worried about the sanity of Selva Lewis Burdette Jr., 30. Throwing a sneaky assortment of curves, sinkers and screwballs, he made last year...
Postulating a grey-as-ashes England where upper-class loss has not meant lower-class gain, Playwright Osborne writes of a young intellectual who looks back because he has no incentive to look ahead, and looks back in anger because he has no brighter past than future. Exulting in his wrongs rather than crusading for his rights, living in "the American age" but without sharing its rewards, Jimmy-at least on the surface-is resolutely a full-fledged Disorganization Man. But gnawing at him worse than have-not economics is the endemic English intestinal bug of class resentment. Happily, none...