Word: mayors
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Dates: during 1920-1929
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...most instances disappointing to audience and cast alike. "Seventh Heaven", as "clean and wholesome" as the day it left Boston last October, returned to the Hollis St. Theatre last Monday night and proved the rule as the first exception in many moons. To be sure there was no Mayor Curley present to rise from his box and denounce the moral turpitude of the drama, as on the memorable opening night of its first Boston appearance, nor did the final grand flourish at the end of the third act evoke the applause deemed necessary for speeches from a cast, tired...
...Herriot, sucking meditatively at his pipe, bowed gravely to Ambassador Rakovsky. For a few moments they leaned against a booth and talked. Gradually Mayor Herriot warmed toward the amiable Russian. He forgot that many of his bourgeois Lyonnaise constituents invested heavily in Russian bonds before the War and now regard all emissaries of the Soviets as agents of the Devil. In a word, M. Herriot invited M. Rakovsky to an official banquet at Lyons that night. They shook hands and M. Herriot strolled on, still sucking-warm whiffs from his Italian briar...
Suddenly the Mayor's eyes bulged. Choking on the smoke, he sneezed. He sneezed because he had just remembered that President Doumergue of France had come down to Lyons to open the fair (TIME, March 15), and would of course be the chief guest at the banquet. Aghast, M. Herriot remembered that diplomatic usage would demand the placing of Ambassador Rakovsky next to President Doumergue. What to do? Helas! Quel faux...
...christening was done by two local young women, Miss Genevieve Parker, champion dog team driver, and Mrs. Emma Delavergne, wife of the Mayor. A beribboned bottle was broken against the nose of each machine, but the bottle did not contain champagne, which is a lost word in Alaska. The odor that came from the ruck of glass and red, white and blue silk was the odor of aviation gasoline, raw and pungent...
...well-built, middle-aged citizen of Massachusetts, having residence in a suburb of Boston. His hair is greying. He has had to adopt spectacles. He likes work and he likes peace. Lately he was called to serve on a jury that was to decide whether or not the Mayor of Chelsea, Mass., and 13 others were guilty of conspiracy to violate the national prohibition act. Unlike many citizens Mr. Conant did not wiggle out of his manifest duty. He was impaneled with eleven others, who elected him their foreman. For six weeks the trial continued. In the end, only...