Word: poorly
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Dates: during 1940-1949
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...clerk who can stand up under the droves of old grads who, if they follow instructions, will place in his hands their watches, Phi Bete keys, straw hats, Ming vases and souvenir footballs. Mark our words, some innocent grad will be a final straw on the back of some poor teller and will say, "I'm Harold Sturver '17. I have here a valuable..." only to have the wicket slammed in his face. This sort of thing inevitably causes confusion...
...Vogel in the Union where there will doubtless be games and all sorts of goodies and tuck. What these games will be or what work the devil will find to occupy their busy little minds is justly no concern of either the authors or their numerous readers. The children, poor little dears, are stuck for the duration in the Union...
...noticed the other day one of our compatriots on the Crimson staff down on his hands and knees carefully fastening the shoots of baby ivy plants to the walls of the Crimson building. We can appreciate their efforts in trying to add an effect of tradition to the poor Crimson by giving it a nivy covered house, but we doubt that even ivy could cover up the journalism of the Crimson. The best thing for them to do with the ivy would be to use it as a protecting cover to shield each issue of the Crimson from the critical...
Ladies, Please! Rich or poor, black or white, married or single, women were so eager to sign up that many went without breakfast. Bosses waited in vain for secretaries, nurses arrived late and breathless at hospitals, dishes went unwashed and floors unswept. Some housewives had plans complete for Junior to stay with Grandma for the duration. One mother and daughter would not give their names for fear, Papa would find out. A Washington girl had just accompanied her boy friend to the Marines' recruiting office. A Philadelphia girl would not let photographers take her picture lest her sister find...
...visit the newborn, crowded shrine. But now in his old age he confronts in Lourdes's hospital the full weight of disease and death, and is reborn into the mysteries of his childhood. As Lafite, a cancer pregnant in his throat and his weary mind working at its poor height, is drawn, hypnotically, nearer & nearer the iron grille which now shields the wet stones of the grotto, Werfel ceases to be the reverent and grateful craftsman. He becomes, for a few pages, one of the best things a man without genius or sainthood may hope to become: a great...