Word: pigeoneers
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Dates: during 1950-1959
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...higher target than the steelmakers' own Joe Magarac: the $2,829,000,000 U.S. Steel Corp., sired by J. P. Morgan the Elder, weaned by Judge Elbert Gary, and now, in its maturity, presided over by a miner's son from Pigeon Run, Ohio, named Benjamin Franklin Fairless...
Ride into Steel. The town of Pigeon Run, where Ben Fairless was born, was a small cluster of sooty frame houses hard by the hillside coal pits where Fairless' father, David Williams, grubbed out a meager living for his wife and four children. Williams had such a hard time making ends meet that his wife's sister, Sarah Fairless, took five-year-old Ben to live with her in nearby Justus. In the front room of their house by the railroad tracks, her husband, Jacob Fairless, ran a grocery. The couple adopted Ben, and he took their name...
...shining, people smiling--wait. Maybe he can find a pigeon in here. Best place to look would be in that pigeon-hole over there by the wall. Mmmmmm. Disappointing. Not his type. Tall feathers nice, though...
There is every evidence that women have not been made happy by their ascent to power. They are dressed to kill in femininity. The bosom is back; hair is longer again; office telephones echo with more cooing voices than St. Mark's Square at pigeon-feeding time. The career girl is not ready to admit that all she wants is to get married; but she has generally retreated from the brassy advance post of complete flat-chested emancipation, to the position that she would like, if possible, to have marriage and a career, both. In the cities, she usually...
...sinister shadow play of symbols, Green tries to suggest that life is more than a kittenish spree. A pigeon falls dead on the first page; Julia worries endlessly about not packing her good luck charms, "her egg with the elephants in it, her wooden pistol and her little painted top"; a spindly mystery man gibbers in changing dialects about the grave illness of somebody's stricken aunt. Like signposts in limbo, these point everywhere and nowhere. And Party Going's old-fashioned pastime-noodling flea-brained upper-class Britons-is next door to limbo. Writing this novel...