Word: piped
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Dates: during 1930-1939
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...children. For fun and exercise he plays golf; a 90 delights him. . He used to like to putter in his garden but such an avocation is not for the resident of big, brown "Prospect." When there is no time for golf he strolls around the campus with his pipe and one of his wife's dogs. Tiny, popular Mrs. Dodds, daughter of a Nova Scotian wholesaler, likes to dance and sing. Dodd's Princeton, President Dodds has neither brought nor promised Princeton a New Deal. "I trust the alumni will pardon me," he wrote last autumn...
Shocked, horrified, scandalized and enraged were readers of Labor Action, organ of the American Workers' Party, to find the foregoing quotation in their paper last month. It appeared in a column "In the Unions," written by a brawny, pipe-smoking youth named Karl Lore, 24, whose father, Ludwig Lore, writes "Behind the Cables" in the New York Post...
...deliveries except to hospitals. Eager to break the strike, businessmen persuaded the police chief to commission some thousand of them as special officers to protect the market district, start trucks moving. "Get the 'specials.' Let the blue coats go." yelled 5.000 rioters. From clubs and lengths of pipe the "specials" got a fierce drubbing. Every ambulance in Minneapolis was summoned to carry off the injured. A lusty striker with a baseball bat stepped up behind C. Arthur Lyman, graduate of Hotchkiss and Williams, onetime Guardsman and Wartime artillery officer, now vice president of American Ball Co. The striker...
...love the Germans but we have always respected them. We love France, but we want her to be respected. ... In the old days no smoking was allowed in postoffices, and cigars had to be left in the entrance hall, but today you can go to the postoffice with your pipe in your mouth. ... In those days a deputy would call on the prefect of police with his hat in his hand, while today the subprefect meets the deputy at the railroad station and carries his bag. We Alsatians don't like that. It puts politics above the machinery...
...doors off lower Fifth Avenue. There every morning he would digest the daily newspapers arranged for him by a secretary. He might go out to luncheon with a banker, or speed to Washington for a White House press conference. In the afternoon, working in shirt-sleeves and puffing a pipe, he would write his daily 1,200 word dispatch in longhand. His secretary would pick up a private telephone to Western Union to put it on the cables...