Word: haunt
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Dates: during 1940-1949
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Dorothy Thompson and a buxom blonde Naziphile met on a sidewalk outside Manhattan's Café Royal, favorite downtown haunt of Jewish actors, writers, professionals. Inside, Columnist Thompson had been sitting with Austrian Refugee Economist Dr. Gustav Stolper. The anonymous blonde, laden with jewels and alcohol, had entered with an anonymous escort. "Heil Hitler!" barked the blonde presently. Nothing happened. Followed more heiling, loud comments on Jewish cooking. Followed the ejection of the blonde by the management. Followed Columnist Thompson...
...last two stories have more direction for they deal with objective problems which their authors can understand and control. While their issues may seem trivial and dated, it is refreshing to find that ideas as well as "atmospheres" haunt the minds of the Mt. Auburn Street coterie. "Roll Your Own," Cecil Schneer's first contribution to the Advocate, is a somewhat overlong tale of a mortgage foreclosure, but it contains some unusually well conceived characters, ably portrayed by dialogue and incident. Harold Smith's "Boy Wanted" though the slightest of these stories in stature, succeeds the best. Here...
Many people think of Little, Brown as the last haunt of the publishing pterodactyls, a place where the grey-bearded staff, when awakened too suddenly, shout: "The Redcoats are coming!" before dropping off to sleep again...
...Expense accounts from NRA heydays rose to haunt high-flying Columnist General Hugh S. Johnson, his son Major Kilbourne, his secretary Frances M. ("Robbie") Robinson. The President vetoed a bill to validate old payments to the three for excess traveling expenses in 1933-34. Unless the Senate overrides the veto the General owes the Government $1,868.61, the Major $3,335, Robbie, $57.19 ∙∙ Bird-wise Quiz Kid Gerard Darrow wept remorsefully as he taxied to an Audubon Society meeting in Chicago, where he knew he would meet Columnist John Kieran, Information Pleaser. Nine-year-old Gerard, who wrote...
...conflagration got out of control and was licking hungrily at the tail-feathers of one of the stuffed pelicans that haunt the curie grotto. In the nick of time Coles Phinizy '42, head comie, cantered to the rescue armed with an old pewter tankard (dated at least 1639) and avowed its contents onto the flames, which immediately went...