Word: porch
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Dates: during 1940-1949
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...unreaped acres he could see the wheat heads nodding to the cool morning. He called his wife, Zula, to get up and get breakfast going. He slipped out of his cotton nightshirt and into shorts, faded blue work shirt, grease-stained overalls and high, heavy shoes. On the back porch he sloshed water on his face, groped for the roller towel. In the next 15 minutes he had milked the cow and got Jack up. Then he went to the small bunkhouse and woke his two harvest hands: 36-year-old Harold Robb and 18-year-old Fay Everett...
...this year these were only minor effects. Summer, 1946 would be super-colossal. There would be more trips, more sunburn, more automobile wrecks, more beach bonfires, picnics, fancy diving and moonlit romances than ever before. The kissing in canoes, front-porch swings, automobiles, motorboats and tree-shaded lanes had already used up lipstick by the bucket. Baseball was wonderful again and dance bands were improving-grandstands and pavilions were crowded. Summer stock and borsch circuit vaudeville were splashed with big names. If the fishing was not the best in history, a million mosquito-bitten men would never admit...
Somebody dynamited William H. Johnson's back porch in 1944, but that did not dislodge him from office. Mayor Ed Kelly's stooge Superintendent of Schools was a hard man to oust-so long as Boss Kelly stood for him. The accusations of the National Education Association (TIME, May 28, 1945) couldn't do it, though their charges were serious: that Johnson transferred 600 teachers to reward his friends and punish his enemies, for a juicy fee tutored teachers who wanted to be principals, and terrorized teachers by a network of spies...
...came out from behind the cloud. Vag glanced at the figures scurrying up and down the Widener front porch. Two weeks to exams, he mused, and. . . "Reading Period," he screamed to the squirrels and pigeons. It wasn't too late. He started off rapidly toward Widener, kept on past it, dodged across Mass. Avenue, bounded down Holyoke Street and raced up the stairs to his room. "The Great Gatsby" was on the rug where he had left it, and there was an inch of amber left in the bottle on the mantlepiece. F. Scott Fitzvag held the bottle...
...With No Regret." A quarter of an hour later the official ceremonies marking the first anniversary of F.D.R.'s death began on the broad front porch of the Big House. Dutchess County youngsters perched in a tall tree; servants peeked from the house windows; Falla scuttled out and snuggled at Harry Truman's feet...