Word: kent
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Dates: during 1940-1949
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...been suspended from filing any further news from the European Theater of Operations. A few took this as an indication that A.P. might have been wrong. But A.P., hot under the collar and sure of its facts, rushed in to join the issue. Cried A.P. President Kent Cooper, determined crusader for freedom of the press: "This suppression cuts squarely across the fundamental rights respecting freedom of information. . . . Vigorous representations have been made. . . . The right of peoples everywhere to know is at stake...
Died. Arthur Symons, 79, British litterateur who outlived the mauve elegance of his contemporaries (Wilde, Beardsley, et al.) to become a respected critic; in Wittersham, Kent, England. As a translator, he introduced to the English-speaking world the Continental refinements of Verlaine, Baudelaire, D'Annunzio. His best-received book, Confessions (1930), was an autobiographical account of an overly sensitive mind lost in Italy and recovered in a British asylum...
...What a pity," said Mr. Baltisky, the Americans just do not appreciate how much freedom the Russian press has. So he proceeded, in 6,000 words, to educate the Associated Press' crusading Executive Director Kent Cooper, who has been conducting a one-man campaign to make freedom of the press worldwide. The Soviet reply, which was more in pity than in censure, appeared in the magazine War and the Working Class, as "A Heart-to-Heart Talk with Mr. K. Cooper by N. Baltisky...
...made occasional silly statements. But what Cabinet officer, he asked, is innocent on these counts? He added: "Unpleasant as it is to say, apparently the basic reason for the long, sustained campaign against her is that she is a woman." Then looking gloomily ahead, as is his custom, Columnist Kent pinned a final decoration on Cabinet Member Perkins: "We could do a lot worse-and probably will...
...looked as if we were up against it," wrote Lieut. Such to his wife Eve in Beckenham, Kent, "when I suddenly remembered your lock of hair in my pocket. Yours was four-thousandths of an inch thick and dead-black. So four strands were fixed on four of my fine needles-it took me hours-and the surgeon, who is a marvelous chap, let me watch your hair sewing up chaps' nerves in the head. Today there are four men walking around with your hair in their heads...