Word: hitting
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Dates: during 1920-1929
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TIME is frank with itself; TIME is likewise frank with its readers. Frankness breeds discontent at times; discontent brings complaint, sometimes valid, more often invalid. TIME, in its unique way, says things at times that hit home with a bang-its criticisms are harsh -its adjectives ever are pointed as daggers- it portrays the world a bit cynically yet interestingly-it sees good in some, bad in others, worse in a few, and in so doing pacifies the thinker and makes the gullible thing. That is a mighty achievement; certainly it should overshadow the minor errors that too often arouse...
William Osler began life in 1849 in the wilds of upper Canada, son of a clergyman who had migrated from Cornwall. One of his earliest recollections was of throwing a stone at a pig. "The pig was a long way off, but with the first stone he hit it directly behind the ear and to his chagrin killed it instantly. He would always laugh till the tears came into his eyes at the thought of how 'that old pig looked as he rolled over on his back with his four legs stiff...
When Slattery, with his smile of a contemptuous faun, came two-stepping toward the weaving, crouching Shade, spectators averted their eyes. They hoped Slattery understood enough of mercy to be quick about his business. In the first round, Shade actually managed to hit him lightly, on the jaw. Slattery seemed puzzled. In the second round, there was another flurry from Shade. Slattery was obviously taking his time to get the range. In the third round, Shade crouched lower. He came out of his corner almost on his belly. From this position he started a blow which began in the resin...
...phonograph, tossed the phonograph out of the window, barked his shins on a table, threw the table after the phonograph, went from room to room performing feats. His sister ran for a policeman. Mr. Garcia knocked down the peaked bluecoat. Came another. Mr. Garcia bit him; he hit Mr. Garcia with a blackjack; Mr. Garcia dived from the window into the clutches of two more officers who lugged him, roaring, off to jail...
British Open. A snowy ball hung in the air over the second green of the Prestwick golf links, Scotland. From the sea close by, blew what a Scotsman would call "a bit breeze," an American a "stout wind." Truly hit, the ball never wavered. It dropped on the dry, fast turf, leaped toward the hole, disappeared from the view of the thousands of spectators that jostled in the rough and back of the bunkers. Picking his way from the tee, his mashie still in his hand, J. H. Taylor, five times (1894, '95, 1900, '09, '13) British Open Champion, came...