Word: petted
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Dates: during 1950-1959
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When the evil tidings were borne to him in Hollywood, 61-year-old Walter flew into a Vesuvian rage. Elsa Maxwell, fumed he, is a "fat, sloppy, smelly [unmentionable]." What was worse, said he, she had jeopardized his pet project, the Damon Runyon Cancer Fund: "Letters have been pouring in from people saying, 'We're not going to give any money to the fund because we hear on the Paar show that you are un-American!'" Winchell announced plans to enrich the Runyon Fund by $24 million by suing all twelve of Paar's sponsors...
...University has always had the power to determine which plays are presented in its theaters, but up to now it has wisely allowed proposals for student productions to come from student groups. No production originated by students has been set aside for the pet project of a faculty member. Equally important, no case has recently come to light of a refusal to give theater space to a play on aesthetic or "moral" grounds...
EVERY businessman has his pet phrase for the slump-the "saucer recession," the "polkadot recession," etc., etc. It is also the recession where more statistics get more microscopic study than ever before, as every economist-amateur or professional-searches to discover whether the U.S. economy is going up, down or sideways. The only trouble is that statistics, like dry martinis, should be handled with care. For a prime example of how befuddling statistics can be, see BUSINESS, Unemployment Figures...
...became the scorpion-tossing twins of Jazz Age journalism. On Nathan's Smart Set (1914-23), Mencken's old American Mercury (1924-33), and the short-lived American Spectator (1932-35), the slim, elegant Nathan and hulking, tousled Mencken battered at boneheads and "dingdoodles" (Nathan's pet epithet for self-satisfied know-nothings). When Mencken died two years ago, his meat ax seemed as anachronistic as a halberd. But Critic Nathan-though the day had passed when he could kill a play with a quip-remained an acute and acidulous observer of the theater whose only visible...
Aldous Huxley, 63, is now so venerable a figure of modern letters that a middle-aged critic-the Atlantic Monthly's Charles J. Rolo-owns a poodle named Aldous. Evelyn Waugh, 54, never reached the same status of a chic literary household pet. But, unlike poodles, both writers-two of the century's most gifted entertainers-are no longer quite fashionable. Both have had the premature burial of collections in their lifetime, Huxley's latest prepared by an anonymous Harper editor, Waugh's by Rolo...