Word: mongered
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Dates: during 1950-1959
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After a jaunt through Western Europe to Greece, Harl returned to Provincetown, where, through the years, he has gainfully occupied himself as a fisherman and fish-monger, and latterly, as a coffee grinder. One gathers that he was seriously ill for some time, but this didn't prevent him from driving, for variety's sake, a taxi in New York...
...that Oliver Wendell Holmes, one of the honored guests, read a poem patterned after "The One-Horse Shay," and entitled "How the Old Horse Won the Bet.' This poem was not one of Holmes' masterpieces, but the board felt it was certainly worth publishing and sent their best material-monger, Everett Hale, around to see Holmes the next morning...
Among readers who fancy vampires, succubi, werewolves and other monsters, a young (35) Californian named Ray Bradbury is regarded as the arrived monster-monger, fit replacement for August Derleth, eldritch statesman of the well-informed witchlover. Author Bradbury may owe even more to John Collier, another veteran djinn-and-bitters addict. Like Mary Wollstonecraft (Frankenstein) Shelley and Bram (Dracula) Stoker, these writers appeal to the middle or relatively uncorrugated brow, rather than the highbrow, who finds more than enough to bite his nails over in the Age of Anxiety without faking up a little more. The highbrow, in fact, whose...
...Gossip Monger. In 1926, Ed saw an attractive brunette sitting at a nightclub table with some friends of his. He joined them and met 20-year-old Sylvia Weinstein. He promptly invited Sylvia to a heavyweight fight between Jack Sharkey and Harry Wills. It was the first prizefight Sylvia had ever seen, and she recalls that she tried hard to like it. Three and a half years later, Ed and Sylvia were married in the rectory of a Roman Catholic Church in West Orange, N.J. Sylvia has remained a Jew, but their daughter Betty has been raised a Catholic. Meanwhile...
...Genius. One of those inevitable accidents which mark the life of a genius turned Hogarth into the delineator of his age, or in his own phrase, its "master phiz-monger." He was just another London apprentice (his job was incising coats of arms on the gentry's silver plate), wandering about town like so many young men, knowing himself to be a genius, but not knowing what to be a genius about. A tavern brawl gave him his cue. A Sunday drinker clobbered another over the scalp with a quartern tankard. In 18th century terms it was a "laughable...