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Claghorn, who carries professional Southernhood about as far as it can go, tells how he was weaned on mint juleps, drinks only from a Dixie cup, sees only Ann Sothern movies, shuns Ann Sheridan, never listens to Mr. & Mrs. North, avoids the Lincoln Tunnel. His hat is a Kentucky derby. He naturally hates compasses for the way they point. Typical script...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Radio: Claghorn's the Name | 12/31/1945 | See Source »

...crossing one of the canals in the heart of the city, and most Japanese towns boast a copy of Tokyo's Nihonbashi. Many streets are pleasantly named for flowers, trees and beasts. Exceptions: Anjin-cho (pilot street), named for Will Adams, first Englishman to visit Japan; the Ginza ("mint for silver coins"), Tokyo's main street, combining the worst features of Broadway, Sixth Avenue and the Atlantic City boardwalk. Signs in Roman characters along the Ginza were often just a little wrong: "Milk Snop"; "Barber Shot"; "Traunks & Bugs...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: International: Modan City | 9/17/1945 | See Source »

Others shared his urge. Harvard's "Boaty" Sturgis, who wore a pink tie and reminded people of "a wild night in a florist's shop," trailed Estelle like a mooning spaniel. Wolfish Hugo Zachias, who had made a mint of money selling scrap iron to Japan, talked her into a weekend at his Spanish villa on Long Island. There were also jaded Bill Priest, who wrote scintillating advertisements for jewelers ("Evenings of wonder, these evenings of betrothal time"), and Croupier Joe Heeney, who had learned to hate race horses ("he had long since passed the point where...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Books: Meandering Manners | 9/10/1945 | See Source »

Passing Fancies. In Manhattan, male shoppers who dared could now ask for ties in seven new shades: Lemon Squash, Strawberry Parfait, Pistachio Freeze, Orange Fizz, Blue Frappe, Mint Ice and Coral Crush...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Miscellany, Aug. 13, 1945 | 8/13/1945 | See Source »

...what we can," sighed Ralph Waldo Emerson, "summer will have its flies." In 1945, summer was having its perennial drought in readable books. "Along about every July," cracked Random House's bubbling Bennett Cerf, "publishers start crying into their $6 lunches at the Colony and $2 mint juleps at the Ritz Bar that business is awful. But by September 10, they're again screaming that they're in the 90% income tax bracket...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Books: The Doldrums | 7/30/1945 | See Source »

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