Word: motorized
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Dates: during 1940-1949
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Henry Ford II got an eye-opening, if dispiriting lesson in labor relations. Three months ago, he had agreed to U.A.W.-C.I.O. demands for a pension plan that would cost the Ford Motor Co. around $200 million (TIME, July 7). Young Henry's plan was as revolutionary as his grandfather's $5-a-day wage was in 1914. The U.A.W., which had threatened to strike if it did not get the plan, apparently agreed. It loudly proclaimed that the joint U.A.W.-Ford pension plan would be a pattern for all other automakers to follow. But last week...
...Detroit, on deadline night, Ford Motor Co. officials waited more than six hours for the C.I.O.'s United Automobile Workers to make up its mind about what kind of a contract it wanted at Ford. The union had the choice of a straight 11½? increase plus six paid holidays or a 7?-an-hour pay boost along with a pension plan (TIME, Aug. 11). Ford had the U.A.W. over a barrel; if it failed to sign by midnight, the U.A.W. would be forced to give up its union shop or go to the NLRB for an election...
Possible explanation: redheads often have "accelerated motor innervation," i.e., they are quick on the draw. With this advantage, Dr. von Hentig thinks, it is no wonder that they rose to prominence in the shooting business. "The frontier was an all-male society," the report adds, with a hint of regret. "It was therefore easy to omit the issue of the red-haired woman...
...been teaching health-dancing to other Washington ladies (TIME, March 17) took a flier in another field, gave instructions to girl delegates to the American Legion School of Democracy. "My definition of character," said she, "is the ability to say no to yourself. Don't run your motor too hard, girls...
...hours, but then the treacherous currents and high seas forced him to give up. Last week Tom tried again. Conditions were wretched: all night there were thunderstorms with hail and wind that whipped up four-foot waves; at dawn there were thick, swirling mists so that his escorts in motor boats sometimes lost sight of him. Fifteen hours and 25 minutes after he had left Donaghadee, Tom Blower plodded up the beach in a misty little cove five miles from the Scottish village of Port Patrick. He looked back over his shoulder and said: "You bastard, I've conquered...