Word: nashe
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Dates: during 1930-1939
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Occupying a suite of rooms at London's swank Savoy Hotel for the past two months has been short, square-faced, blue-eyed Walter Nash. Once a bookseller in the English Midlands, he migrated to New Zealand 30 years ago. Last week he was back in the country of his birth representing his adopted country in a complicated and-for New Zealand-crucial financial deal...
Like many another minister who comes to London these days, Mr. Nash wanted to borrow money. New Zealand's Minister of Finance, Mr. Nash is also the author and executor of a comprehensive economic plan designed to turn agricultural New Zealand into a nation which can at least partially produce its own manufactured goods, and thus be less dependent on world prices. Although realizing that New Zealand will not for a long time be able to supply all its wants, Minister Nash's idea is to build factories to enable the country to manufacture "secondary" articles...
...voluntary" chain of stores and therefore fair game for the State's chain-store tax. Right then U. S. motormakers began to anticipate trouble. Last week to General Motors, Colorado sent a bill for $234,655; to Ford went one for $102,470; to Chrysler, Hudson, Studebaker, Nash and Packard went others totaling $193,995. Grand total: $531,120, billed to the seven motormakers for four years' chain-store license fees ($2.50 to $300.50 a store). Grounds: their licensing and supervision of dealers made them members of a chain...
...white-haired Rev. George B. Gilbert has lived near Middletown, Conn, for 42 years, never moving his residence more than a mile and a half. An Episcopalian, he calls himself a circuit rider. First with a buggy, then with a Model T Ford, now with a big, seven-passenger Nash, he has cared for an area 100 miles square. Three churches claim him in turn every Sunday, one of them giving him hot coffee to go with his picnic lunch: Emmanuel in Killingworth, Epiphany in Durham, St. James in Haddam...
Aboard the German liner Bremen when she reached quarantine last week was a fat, middle-aged man who was listed as Herr Bennett Nash. Herr Nash, a lonely fellow, had spent most of the crossing in the ship's bar drinking whiskey neat. Surrounded by reporters and photographers, he smiled nervously, praised the skyline in guttural English, tried to explain that he was in the U. S. to pay a debt. Before he could finish his explanation Army officers whisked him away to forbidding old Castle William on Governor's Island, where he was given a pair...