Word: juke
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Dates: during 1950-1959
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...evening study date will usually end up in "The Spoon," the place-to-go for Sarah Lawrence. Complete with good food, dim lighting, and a juke box, it is an ideal place for coffee and conversation. Similar on a smaller scale to Cronin's, the Spoon is not strictly a college hangout; residents from the area come also to consume bottles of beer from the counter or liquor from...
After nearly a month had passed and no word on the matter came from the Solicitor's office, DeGuglielmo introduced another order stating "that it is the considered policy of the City Council" that the use of coin-operated machines (except vending machines and juke boxes) be prohibited...
...fascinating rhythm blared last week from Chicago's Seeburg Corp., the world's biggest jukebox maker. Three years ago Seeburg gave mankind the 200-selection machine. This year the sound in Seeburg's gaudy new juke is stereophonic. To the jukebox industry, the new sound is only a little newer than the two young men who call the tune for Seeburg: President Delbert W. Coleman and Board Chairman Herbert J. Siegel. The corporation (fiscal 1958 sales: about $25 million) makes not only jukeboxes but most of Western Union's facsimile equipment, plus key electronic components...
...writes Harold on a sheet of yellow paper, belongs to the night and together they conspire against Boston. They live illicitly, caress each other with streetlamps and shadows and juke box symphonies, the soft sob of loss, the subway shudder and the sigh. Night warms is black limbs by the gutter fires and furnace spit. We should bottle the night, prone and passive, siphon it into leather canteen flasks, take swigs of it while sunning ourselves by the river, savour it after a French loave-lunch, rub it on our arm in lieu of excrement...
...writes Harold on a sheet of yellow paper, belongs to the night and together they conspire against Boston. They live illicitly, caress each other with streetlamps and shadows and juke box symphonies, the soft sob of loss, the subway shudder and the sigh. Night warms its black limbs by the gutter fires and furnace spit. We should bottle the night, prone and passive, siphon it into leather canteen flasks, take swigs of it while sunning ourselves by the river, savour it after a French loave-lunch, rub it on our arm in lieu of excrement...