Word: lawns
(lookup in dictionary)
(lookup stats)
Dates: during 1950-1959
Sort By: most recent first
(reverse)
ALTHEA GIBSON does not belong to the clubs that will run the U.S. Lawn Tennis Association matches in Forest Hills next week, but the tournament is her big chance. The lanky Negro girl, who went from paddle tennis in Harlem to victory at Wimbledon (and is this week's TIME cover subject), is by all odds the leading contender. Shy by nature, wary of her turbulent success, the champ was a closemouthed subject for Reporter Serrell Hillman, dropped her guard only when Hillman spent a week at her side, trailed her to Chicago for the Clay Courts championship...
...girl who grew up in the slums of Harlem will play tennis. She may not belong to any of the clubs that run the tournament, but this year the tournament belongs to her. Behind Althea Gibson, women's tennis curves off into mediocrity: without her, the U.S. Lawn Tennis Association would not have much of a show...
...Miss Gibson." wrote Tennis Great Alice Marble angrily in American Lawn Tennis, "is over a cunningly wrought barrel, and I can only hope to loosen a few of its staves with one lone opinion. I think it's time we faced a few facts. If tennis is a game for ladies and gentlemen, it's also time we acted a little more like gentlepeople and less like sanctimonious hypocrites...
...Like millions of other Americans in major cities across the U.S., the President of the U.S. was ready to play his part in the nuclear-age fire drill. At 2:10 p.m., hatless, wearing a tan, double-breasted summer suit, he walked across the White House's south lawn, and for the first time boarded his new royal-blue and white Bell Ranger helicopter.* Serious of mien, the President strapped himself in the four-place whirlybird next to White House Secret Service Chief Jim Rowley. The aircraft rose from the lawn, hovered above a cluster of photographers, then skimmed...
...this spring, he had a stout ship under him and a restless, lifelong dream to steer her by: he wanted to sail around the world by himself. Driven by his dream, Boston had built his ship, a 30-ft. auxiliary ketch, with his own hands on the lawn of his home in Swampscott, Mass. Two years ago, he coaxed the Fiddler's Green as far as Port Said before an attack of jaundice sent him home by freighter, his ship lashed ignobly on deck...