Word: jersey
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Dates: during 1920-1929
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Still more incredible to Germans is the fact that Mr. S. Parker Gilbert, a young New Jersey Baptist who took his B. A. at Rutgers only two years before the World War began, now sits fiscally enthroned over Germany as Agent General of Reparations. Beside 34-year-old Seymour Parker Gilbert such financiers as John Pierpont Morgan, 59, of 23 Wall Street, loom as fiscal gaffers. Yet there are among active U. S. fiscal titans men of a youthful middle age. For example, Clarence Dillon, of Dillon, Read & Co., is 44. Mr. Dillon is of course the enfant terrible...
...Come on over into New York State," said a florid Irishman with gold teeth to a freckle-faced Irishman. They were shaking hands, and at a yank from Gold Teeth, Freckles crossed the border. "Come over to New Jersey," grinned Freckles, returning the yank. "I'll show you a good state!" The scene was 100 feet under the oozy bottom of the Hudson River and the Irishmen were Governors Smith of New York and Moore of New Jersey, "two outstanding Wets in a dry spot." They had on their tops hats and morning coats, for they were met- where...
...Baltimore & Ohio R. R. will move out of the Pennsylvania Terminal in Manhattan. Already a sweeping advertising campaign is telling travelers about a fleet of "Ritzy" parlor busses with special baggage compartments which will scurry from Pershing Square and the Waldorf Hotel to the B. & O. Terminal in Jersey City...
...interview in his pocket. Mr. Cochran, whose especial proficiency is a knowledge of General Motors Corp., had told him that the stock "should and will sell at least 100 cents higher." Potential millions lay in the darkness of Reporter Nicholl's pocket. Unabashed, he went to his New Jersey home. If he was excited, only his wife and small baby knew it. Sunday being a day of rest, he rested. Monday morning he helped his brother obtain a position in uptown Manhattan. Not until then did he remember that he ought to report his interview with Mr. Cochran...
...beauty spot of New Jersey, clad in fat trees and voluptuous clover on a still, close night last week . . . now lies prostrated, ravished, wrecked, shivered, torn, blasted. As if razed by ten years' surging warfare, the fields and villages nearby Lake Denmark, shrouded in grey gunpowder dust, welter in the July heat, pocked and gashed by a terrific bombardment...