Word: pinks
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Dates: during 1940-1949
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Stripped of his pink sport shirt and shaded by a white pith helmet, he nevertheless found fishing a good way to sit and loaf. Loafing was his chief objective and he got a lot of it done. He kept his weight level by frequent swims off the fantail of his yacht Williamsburg (he uses a side stroke to keep his glasses dry). And he managed to do almost no work. He signed a few documents, put off until this week everything that required anything more than his signature...
...lived there for 30 years before World War II, and wouldn't mind living there the rest of his life. He has a stone-and-wood workshop in Lahaska, in Bucks County, Pa., a region thickly settled by Broadway wits and literary wights; but his four-story, pink stucco Paris house has two studios. And he likes the talk on Paris' left bank. Last week he was shamelessly spending his time reading dusty old letters from Arnold Bennett and Gertrude Stein and arranging an art show...
...British who have done it for me, it is the Americans." But Empire Subject Dunbar is not sure he likes living in the U.S. Says he: "I think I will make my home in Paris where, if you are good, they will applaud you whether you are pink, white or black, and if you are bad they will whistle...
...brain children were the elves, gnomes, leprechauns and little men-and a talking dog-that peopled Barnaby, a fey and fanciful strip that began in Manhattan's tabloid PM in April 1943. Johnson liked them all, from Gorgon the dog to Mr. O'Malley, Barnaby's pink-winged fairy godfather whose long cigar was a magic wand. But keeping them on schedule was a grind. Hulking Crockett Johnson tired, began plotting his escape...
Enter the Head Man. There was a stir in the back of the hall and Molotov bustled in with his brisk, bobbing swagger. His face was pink with anxiety and his tie (for once) was askew. He snapped his finger to attract the chair's attention, and Bidault wearily said: "The Soviet delegation has an observation to make." A reporter muttered: "Hold your hats, boys, here we go again...