Word: logger
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Ragsdale works out of TIME'S Washington office, but because of his rough and tumble travel experiences he is apt to be ordered anywhere. Educated at the University of Washington and at the Sorbonne, he has been a professional fighter, a logger, an oil driller, an extra in the Ballet Russe, a stevedore in Alaska, a publicity man for a symphony orchestra -and he sailed in the fo'c'sle to South America, the Caribbean, Europe and the Orient...
...railroad; then the steam engine gave way to the tractor, the railroad to the truck. But the trees still had to be cut down by hand. The faller (who chops and saws the tree), the bucker (who saws the timber into logs) were indispensable reminders of the lusty, whiskered logger of old. They may not be much longer. Like the black cotton pickers of the South,* they are on their way to limbo...
Last week, after the field had birled down to the finalists, the survivors were a pair of Bangor Tigers, if ever there were: 28-year-old Joe Connor of Cloquet, Minn., an upstart college boy (University of Minnesota), who at the 1937 championship made the old loggers look like sissies; and 28-year-old Jimmy Herron, boom man for a Longview (Wash.) lumber mill, who was crowned "King of the White Water" at the last championship meet in 1938. Champion Herron, who once doubled for Cinemactor El Brendel in the log-driving scenes in God's Country...
Paul Bunyan, gigantic, legendary Northwest logger, might well make music surge in some great U.S. symphony. Last week he was the hero-although he never appeared onstage-of an anemic operetta put up by two British expatriates. The librettist of the operetta, corn-shocky Poet Wystan Hugh Auden, excused himself for muscling in on U.S. mythology by declaring that Bunyan is a universal figure...
Nearly everybody in northern Minnesota knows rawboned, six-foot Frank Broker. For more than 25 years he was a logger, one of the best in that logging country. Now he is a jobber, driving through the timberlands in his Chevrolet to buy up small lots of lumber and sell them to the mills. With his good sense, his jet-black Indian hair and his love of talk, he is also a familiar figure in the lobby of the Endion Hotel at Cass Lake, where red and white men of affairs assemble regularly to settle matters of moment. As a past...