Word: hooted
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Many a plain U.S. citizen will linger over the snapshots of the last Republican and Democratic Conventions, will hoot with sudden delight at an action photograph of the Senate ("Ever seen a section of a termite nest under glass?"), will scratch his head over this group picture of the House of Representatives: ". . . Everywhere the closeset eyes full of lawyer's chicanery, the pursed, selfrighteous mouth drawn down at the corners, the flabby self satisfied jowl...
...towns. A student who dresses up is a sissy and one who fails to shout "Hello" at everyone he meets on the campus is a snob. Men wear corduroys and sweaters, add sheepskins and knee boots when it gets cold. For fun they go off on hunting & fishing trips, hoot and stamp their boots in Orono's lone cinema theatre. Each spring freshman and sophomore boys take three days off for their class fight. This year freshman and sophomore girls put on a tussle. Maine goes in hard for athletics, put up a $450,000 gymnasium last year...
...science. Then, from a somewhat different point of view, "Our Lost Leaders" by Professor I. A. Richards ("The Saturday Review of Literature," April 1, 1933). There is also an article by Professor Hillyer, in a recent "Forum," and one, not specifically literary, by Ezra Pound in the November "Harkness Hoot." Peter A. Pertzoff...
...correct about the feelings of oldtime pilots. In the old days of temperamental engines a good pilot always glided in, a poor pilot flew in. But that criterion has been outmoded by multi-motored ships and by modern engines which once warmed up, do not cut out. Transport operators hoot at the idea of danger in landing under power. They point out that at any moment during a landing, a pilot may need to gun his engines full blast to avoid collision, or to overcome a sudden shift of wind. Unless the engines have been turning over constantly, they will...
...should have been, Ten thousand Babbitts must live in Stamford. When the eastern sky is saffron, and the west is a slate blue, New York yawns, Banana vendors in Second Avenue push their carts through streets littered with humanity's debris, as Park Avenue tumbles into scented beds. Tugs hoot in the harbor, trains leave, planes arrive, the subway roars and the never ending round feverishly swings toward the stupid frenzied pitch of noon...