Word: nervous
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Dates: during 1920-1929
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Died. Dr. William Francis Campbell, 58, distinguished surgeon, cancer specialist; at the Presbyterian Hospital, Manhattan, of cancer, following a nervous breakdown four months...
Last week a nervous little man grinned his twisted grin in the grounds of White Pine Camp. He offered a proposition to President Coolidge-to set aside 20 vaults of the proposed $2,000,000 Archives Building in order to preserve for posterity historical films. Spokesman Coolidge expressed himself as favorably impressed with the idea, pointed out how educational it would be if this generation could observe President Lincoln delivering his Gettysburg address. The little man, no stranger to Presidents, was Movie Monarch Will H. Hays and as he walked the grounds of White Pine Camp, he seemed strangely pleased...
...Spinoza, the Jew of Amsterdam; of morbid Schopenhauer, neurotic Nietzsche, recondite Kant. Emanuel was regarded by himself and his family, as a mental prodigy. He had made public orations in the Liberty Loan drives at the age of 10. He had finished high school at 16 and, after a nervous breakdown, read long and late at philosophy and psychology, screwed up in a corner with his scrawny shoulders hunched, his lean hooked nose thrust into a book. Mr. Silberstein, a tailor, and his wife, would listen in awe to their son's condescending accounts of long arguments with...
...letter was written by her 85-year-old "Tiger" Clemenceau's august furious own hand. It was unofficial, all the more notable. Spokesman Coolidge, vexed, shrewd, presumably saw that an emotional argument not answerable in kind is best not answered at all. Secretary of State Frank B. ("Nervous Nellie") Kellogg, as discreet as the famed simian trio, saw no evil, heard no evil, spoke no evil...
...nervous Manhattan financier snatched at what he thought was his daily Wall Street Journal. What was this? Editor Kenneth C. Hogate, President C. W. Barren were getting after those bummers who undersold him yesterday! He called the fine news across the room to tell his secretary, found her tittering timorously and avoiding his look. Again he looked at his paper. Here was his name in print! What had he done? Dastardly impudence! Oh! . . . This was not the Wall Street Journal. He was reading the Bawl Street Journal, its gay, impish perfect imitation which the Manhattan Bond Club issues...