Word: pasted
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Dates: during 1940-1949
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...saved for "battleship admirals" he now turned on his fellow flyers across the fence in the Air Force. "Are we as a nation to have 'bomber generals' fighting to preserve the obsolete heavy bomber-the battleship of the air? Like its surface counterpart, its day is largely past ... In the last analysis, the B-36 is a 1941 airplane...
Gleam of Brass. He mounted an unshaded wooden reviewing stand and 20,000 men, led by the famed 82nd Airborne Division's band, poured past in his honor. They marched in ranks of twelve, brass and helmet liners gleaming, brand new company guidons bright in the hot sunlight. Behind them rumbled their tanks, guns and trucks...
Last week, 58-year-old Leland Olds found these old words still echoing in the ears of Congress. In the years since, he had risen to a position of power. As the dominant member of the Federal Power Commission for the past ten years, he had toughened Government regulation of utilities, helped cut wholesale natural gas and electricity rates by $40.6 million a year, successfully fought legislation to exempt the rich natural-gas business from federal control. In short, he had made himself the power lobby's No. 1 candidate for political electrocution...
...Heat's On. Once before this year, the President had gotten another oldtime New Dealer-Federal Trade Commissioner John Carson-past a balky committee, by turning on some purely political heat. He decided to try again with Olds, sent for National Democratic Chairman Bill Boyle. On Harry Truman's orders, Boyle dispatched telegrams to every Democratic national and state committeeman, governor and mayor in the U.S.. told them Olds's defeat would be "a victory for the power lobbyists and the Republican Party," and instructed them to whip their Senators into line...
...staffs behind to run Western Berlin as though it were simply 2,000,000 people. U.S. High Commissioner John McCloy makes only short visits to his OMGUS office. The halls of the building that was Clay's command post echo" now to the irrelevant footsteps of janitors, shuffling past nameless doors...