Word: manly
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Dates: during 1930-1939
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Personality. After the Hoover legends of the past ten years, Republicans meeting him for the first time are surprised to discover that he is a very able man and promptly conclude that he is badly maligned. He does not do the things that politicians are supposed to do: he cannot tell a joke, seldom even laughs at a good one and cannot go through the complicated ritual-throwing back the head, slapping the thigh-which immemorial tradition holds is the proper U. S. politician's response to a bad one. His handshake is no heartier than the usual political...
...chair almost out of sight, looked up occasionally to quote from memory long passages of law. Defense Counsel Carl Wright Johnson, one of Texas' most eloquent bull-roarers, snorted that conspiracy testimony was stronger against Shook and Burkett, bellowed: "I don't think there is a man on the jury who would send a burr-headed nigger through a cracked gate or fine him a five-cent piece on the evidence they have in this case...
Between conference chamber and court room the colonel bustled, snapping his fingers in summons, beckoning, bowing, whispering, glaring through his monocle. Once he emerged from conference with the air of a man whose adventurous patience is exhausted. Ostentatiously he tore up a typewritten sheet, announced for all to hear: "I'm all washed up." Back he went, however, to the conference room, like the leader of a forlorn hope. At last, after two days, peace seemed to be assured. Justice Dineen adjourned court and his decision until next...
...Doell went to the back of the house, entered the master bedroom. On a three-quarter-size bed, on top of the covers, lay the man he had come to see: Dr. Walter Engelberg, 42, secretary of the Consulate. Dr. Engelberg was dressed in an old-fashioned white nightgown, his hands folded peacefully across his chest, the fingers extended. His head had been smashed by three blows. Obliterated were two sabre scars, marks of duels. He had been dead 24 hours...
...bathroom, police found ten bloody fingerprints of a man's hand; in the front room, bloody handprints on a nightshirt hung on the doorknob. In the garage, near 18 heavy packing cases, was a pile of 100 used light bulbs. Prize clue, the police considered, was the size-11 bedroom slippers. They set a policewoman translator at the Doctor's desk, soon had a list of eight suspects. At week's end they were hunting a heavily muscled young third-rate prize fighter called "Swede," had traced him to a Florida-bound bus. All the paraphernalia...