Word: mats
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Dates: during 1950-1959
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...printing-craft devices, the most wasteful is that of setting "bogus," or "dead horse," which the International Typographical Union has been getting into contracts since 1871. In its broadest application, bogus compels a newspaper to employ workers to reset the advertisements that have been received and used in mat or plate form. The reset ad is worthless, often consigned at once to the composing-room hellbox for remelting. On the Washington Post and Times Herald, I.T.U. men last week were resetting ads that actually ran in 1957. The New York Times estimated that it dead-horsed 5,750,000 lines...
...gains in efficiency are largely neutralized by the fact that powerful shop unions prevent management from cutting payrolls, even though only half as many men may actually be needed to tend the new equipment. Union "make-work" practices such as "bogus"-the needless resetting of ads originally received in mat or plate form-waste millions of dollars a year. And labor costs have maintained a consistent spiral: in New York a Linotypist's wage has climbed from $77.70 in 1945 to $128 a week-and the International Typographical Union is currently demanding $30 a week more...
After reading the Art section in the March 16 issue, with the illustration of the "masterpiece" by Barcelona Abstractionist Antoni Tapies called Grey Borders, I went out quickly to my car. On the floor I found a similar "artistic gem." I had always known my treasure as the floor mat...
...more than 300 arenas across the country, the good guys tangle with the bad guys in the stylized, make-believe mayhem that has made professional wrestling one of the most prosperous trades in show business. Says bulb-nosed, cauliflower-eared Joseph ("Toots") Mondt, the 12-year veteran of the mat and now one of the most successful wrestlers' agents: "You don't see punch-drunk, slap-happy wrestlers. I know at least 60 of them that got out of it rich, and no more harm to 'em than cauliflower ears. This ain't like other sports...
...Foot Pit. Hurrying home to his tiny, rented straw-mat room in an overcrowded shack on the city's outskirts, Kawamura eagerly told his fellow tenants what he had learned. Sure enough, they remembered that there was an old tombstone in the field, so deeply buried that only its top showed above the earth. Nobody knew whose grave it was. It had always been there...