Word: loudest
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Dates: during 1940-1949
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Editor in Ohio. Fourteen pre-war isolationist Congressmen won renominations. For the defeat of No. 15, the loudest of them all, Cleveland newspapers could claim a big red apple...
...findings to a Washington grand jury, last week got the jury to indict 27 men and one woman for conspiracy to promote revolt and disloyalty among members of the U.S. armed forces. Rounded up for a trial this autumn were some of the country's best-known and loudest rabble-rousers, anti-Semites, Anglophobes, Roosevelt-haters, defeatists, Axis agents and just plain crackpots...
...made his living by ribbing the tolerant Third Republic, which he called "the whore." Now it was gone. France, which he loved, was overrun with Germans-"uniformed blackguards, helmeted swine." The Royalist cause, of which he had been the loudest & funniest champion, was all but forgotten. And the good wines of France, which he claimed would "improve bad heredity, amplify good heredity," were mostly being used for the improvement of Nazis. There was little left for him to live for when, last week, death came to old Léon Daudet, 74, longtime editor of Paris' L' Action...
...loudest complainers was Columnist Arthur Krock, who used to be a White House favorite himself, won a Pulitzer Prize (1938) for an exclusive interview with President Roosevelt. Though Mr. Krock's words might be a cluster of sour grapes, they were filled with the seeds of righteousness. Said Krock: "An administration which is operating under the most democratic form of Government in the world has once again told its story through unofficial spokesmen instead of telling the story itself...
Second honors go to Maisky, who has been the great interpretative bridge of Britain to the Kremlin. The loudest "hear hears" followed the tribute to "the valuable contribution to Anglo-Russian understanding made by Mr. Maisky over a long period of years." Many M.P.s looked up toward the very popular Maisky, who sat looking like a faintly amused sphinx with his dumpling body relaxed against the stiff-paneled wall, his hands sprawled on his knees, his black-shod feet propped up on the iron fretwork at the bottom of the gallery railing. He did not change his expression, but wiggled...