Word: matronly
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Dates: during 1950-1959
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...some support. Says a pretty young seamstress: "What Beth wants is no more unwed mothers running around here, shoving pickneys off on old grandmothers to raise." But one island matron sniffed that "Beth Jacobs is just teaching single girls how to use contraceptives." Bishop John J. McEleney warned the Roman Catholic 6% of the population against the clinic. Occasional signs chalked on walls say, "Birth control is a plan to kill Negroes...
...explain his art: "Look at that figure, Cokey. Feel it with your eyes. First see the lines, then the colors..." To which she replies, "All I know, Mr. Jimson, is that no self respecting woman would let herself be painted like that." There is also a soft but deceitful matron, to whom Jimson was once married, and a Lord and his wife whose wall Jimson must have to paint his great panorama of the rising of Lazarus. He finally gets dead drunk in their living room, imports a number of oriental types whose feet he wants to paint, and, quoting...
...intelligence and supplies that were oxygen for the Sierra Maestra fire. The jump-off point for most was underground headquarters in a medical laboratory in eastern Santiago, less than a mile from the government fortress. It was operated as a cover by Mrs. Herminia Santos Bush, a handsome, steely matron whose rebel doctor-husband had been forced to flee. There, under flaring skirts, the rebellion's girls donned canvas harnesses equipped with pockets, loaded themselves with messages, gun parts, radios. One day four girls, chattering gaily, drove into rebel territory with an entire disassembled .30-cal. machine...
...workman who once put aside a few dollars a week towards his retirement, now buys into the market through a mutual fund or the Stock Exchange's Monthly Investment Plan. So does the middle-income white-collar worker who hopes to send his son through college, the matron who saves to give her daughter a bang-up wedding. In Atlanta Mrs. Sara Pfeiffer, a trim, energetic grandmother and freelance writer, has organized three investment clubs, is busy with a fourth. Says a Cleveland commercial artist: "This year I became a capitalist. I went into the market for the first...
...serious vein, there is the calm, careworn father, his hand in groceries, his mind with God. There is the blunt, slangy, kindly matron who wants to marry everyone off; the professional matchmaker, with his human goldbricks and his spiel; the absurdly natty, paunchy, rich upstart. As they cluck, strut, brag, fib, fence, they have no great personal identity; they spill over indeed into caricature. But they boast a sort of tribal flesh; their pretenses and deprecations and denials are bequests from a world of hard competition to a world...