Word: owner
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Dates: during 1930-1939
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...jockey. After the race the track veterinary found a sponge in the nose of Sweeping Light, which had finished third. Then the doctor examined Garden Message, voiced the shocking opinion that the Bostwick horse had been stimulated for the race. Garden Message's trainer stoutly denied it. For Owner Bostwick, who was honeymooning abroad, his friends protested bitterly. Nevertheless the stewards barred both horses from the track pending investigation. Turfman Joseph Early Widener* revealed last week what his Hialeah Park in Miami will do next season about the lately virulent dope evil. It will adopt the "dope-box," widely...
...sidewalk, and roll on his way. Pausing a moment, he will reach into his pocket, pick out the cigar he had not smoked during some faculty meeting and give it to the blind news dealer. Again the puff, the cane, and the bow legs swing into action, as their owner heads for home. Even the taxi men may smile. They know him. He is "the stout feller with the black stick who lives in the red house on Sparks...
Died. William Louis Veeck, 56, president of the Chicago Cubs; of leucocythaemia: in Chicago. Fourteen years ago the Cubs' owner, the late William Wrigley Jr., rubbed raw by withering criticism administered almost daily in Sportswriter Veeck's column, called him in and sarcastically offered him the job of running the club. Veeck accepted. During his tenure the Cubs won two pennants, lost both World Series...
...Griffith Stadium, President Roosevelt & party occupied a box behind the first base line. When President, officials, players, band and photographers were set for the ball- throwing ceremony, the President asked, "Where's the ball?" White-crowned Judge Kenesaw Mountain Landis slapped his pockets, looked hopefully at Clark Griffith, owner of the Senators, who looked helplessly at John J. McGraw, vice president of the Giants, who frantically signalled a policeman. The policeman ran for a ball, tossed it to the President. Right arm upraised, President Roosevelt grinned for photographers, then sang out: "All right, here goes!" He tossed the ball...
Flush was a red cocker spaniel of good breeding whose puppyhood was passed in the pleasant English countryside near Reading. Before he was out of his doggy teens he had tasted the pleasures of love and was a father. Then his owner, Miss Mitford, gave him to her invalid friend, Elizabeth Barrett. In his new mistress's home, on London's genteel Wimpole Street, Flush passed into polite and celibate seclusion. Though not by nature a lapdog, Flush sacrificed his roaming instincts and became a devoted stay-at-home, never stirring from Miss Barrett's room except...