Word: highnesses
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Dates: during 1940-1949
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...Bunker Hill monument and the Navy Yard cranes, the great red truss of Boston's first big bridge. Stretching somewhat over two miles from City Square, Charlestown to Chelsea Square, the huge double decker is 3000 feet longer than the Golden Gate Bridge and rises 135 feet above the high water level of the Mystic River--the same clearance as the Brooklyn Bridge has over the East River. Carrying one-way traffic on each, the two decks are 36 feet wide all the way except through the toll plaza near the middle of the bridge. The actual length...
...halfback posts are both held by sophomores, Don Kimtis at left half and Vern Wynott at right. Kimtis was the leading freshman ground-gainer last fall and can also pass reasonably well. The 160-pound Wynott was a high school sprint champion. This, incidentally, is an all-Massachusetts backfield quartet. The opposing quarterbacks, Bill Henry and Russell, are both from Worcester, and Henry's brother, Neil, is a spare Lion...
...batter may deliberately make an out, so the Dodger hitters all assumed peculiar chop swings. Roy Campanella, who has not hit a ball on the ground since Bill Cunningham denounced the Red Sox, suddenly bounced to third. After Antonelli walked six foot five inches Newcombe on a series of high outside pitches, Reese proceeded to deliberately hit the most beautiful double play ball to shortstop Ryan that could be imagined, a soft line drive on one bounce...
...seems to be the thesis of the Lampoon's high command that their journal is published purely for the amusement of themselves, their minions, and those of their friends who share their exact estimate of what is funny. This would be a valid argument if the Lampoon were typed on Kleenex and passed fraternally from hand to hand. However, the Lampoon is a bona fide publication, "Copyrighted . . . entered at the Boston Post Office," and engaged in selling advertising space to merchants who presumably expect to reach more people than are usually gathered in the Great Hall of the aviary...
...this point football gave way to eloquence. Bill Cunningham, a high-salaried local scrivener, arose, said he'd rather be in Washington watching the Red Sox, and opened his eulogy of Dartmouth with a reference to "my beloved alma mater." Things aren't so hot up there, he said, because what with one thing and another they've lost the left side of the defensive line from end to center. But: "We aren't striking the flag," "we older fellows must realize the game has changed;" and "football teaches . . . all those beautiful things without which...