Word: hangings
(lookup in dictionary)
(lookup stats)
Dates: during 1950-1959
Sort By: most recent first
(reverse)
...began once more to plague those in authority. Without bothering to get official permission, he set up a first-aid station in one of the town's back alleys. A spate of pamphlets poured from his angry pen asking, among other questions, "How many people in Partinico will hang themselves this year?" and "How many will go mad?" Dressed in a thick, white pullover sweater, he was often to be seen waiting in the local mayor's office to demand attention on some problem or other. Last year, after another hunger strike prompted by the death...
...dietary laws were probably partly hygienic, but another end is to keep Jews as a group apart, prevent intermarriage with non-Jews. Today's kosher revival may have other origins. As young Mrs. Tresley explains it: "People are looking for something to believe in, something to hang on to. They don't want a wishy-washy life; they want something concrete...
...objective level, the leaders of the movement have done quite well. The painters are sur rounded by adoring disciples. Their works have been showed and admired in a dozen American cities and also in London, Paris and Venice. The works of the eight painters on these pages hang in excellent Manhattan galleries, and more than 100 of them have been bought by museums at four-figure prices...
...growth to watch is the abstract expression which derives rather heavily from nature." In so saying, Painter Carl Morris, 44, speaks with personal knowledge. His own nature-influenced abstractions rate one-man shows up and down the West Coast, and hang in nine U.S. museums. San Francisco Art Critic Alfred Frankenstein calls Morris "the best painter in Portland, Ore., and one of the best in the United States. Like some of his colleagues, Morris seems to be returning to nature with the very free technique of nonobjective painting." In Morris' one-man exhibit at Manhattan's Kraushaar...
...clipper races in, the chum begins to fly. The high-booted fishermen stand precariously in shallow metal scuppers that hang like balconies over the water, and they wield stout poles from which dangle a short line and a large bare hook. The tuna flash up to take the chum, and many get a hook instead. In hook, out fish, in hook, out fish-the work falls quickly into a pounding rhythm that maddens the blood like drums. The deck-holes are filling fast with 20-pounders that flail like thunder as the blood-mist steams above their thousand throes...