Word: patch
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Dates: during 1930-1939
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...profit corporation organized by 26 charter members, 18 of whom are listed in Who's Who in America. It is managed by a board of nine trustees, all prominent, conservative men. Its work is a constructive type of prevention of dependency, rather than the "patch work" of relief. . . . E. S. GOSNEY President...
...Dixie Bee coal mine, besieged by an invisible swarm of union pickets. For a day and a night and a day their rifles and revolvers had stood off hundreds, possibly thousands, of John L. Lewis' men, squatting in a cornfield, crouching behind a railroad embankment, sniping from a patch of woods. The barricaded tipple house was pockmarked with bullets. One sharpshooting picket had been drilled dead. Within the mine on burlap sacks lay four defenders, blood oozing from their undressed wounds. The wife of the mule barn boss had crawled to safety in the cold boiler. The besieged...
...confined to regions where hills & valleys provide barriers over which the prevailing winds must jump, causing sustained updrafts; or where plowland, woods & water heat and cool the wind, cause rising convection currents. A skilled pilot may soar for hours from ridge to ridge, now & then picking out an arid patch of ground over which he can climb a rising flow of warm air as he would a circular staircase. A high development of the sport is "cloud-hopping," "hooking on" beneath a cumulus cloud, which always indicates warm air, and riding it for miles. Similarly an advancing thunderstorm always pushes...
Easiest pair of journalists to pick out in the great press box were patch-eyed Floyd Gibbons and grinning Will Rogers, wishing they were "back in China where something really happens." It was evident from his second Convention colyum that Reporter Gibbons, who also spoke over NBC, found nothing important happening. Wrote he: "Hello everybody! Chicago looks like it might be going to a picnic. And Chicago ought to be picnic enough for anybody. Why, you can take a taxi and in a few minutes you're out of the heat and crowds of the Loop. Out passing green trees...
...always bounces out of the wings, a square, bullet-headed man, smooth shaven except for a tiny marceled patch where his fontanel was 30 years ago. He brandishes his trumpet. He gives a roguish grin. His eyes roll around in his head like white, three-penny marbles...