Word: printings
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Dates: during 1930-1939
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...Heartened by the response to Paul Smyth's letter, TIME herewith offers, as a temporary experiment, to print one such "want ad" letter a week, for the next few weeks. Conditions: 1) all such letters must be accompanied by at least two letters of reference from businessmen, clergymen, etc. of the writer's acquaintance; 2) TIME reserves to itself the right to choose which, if any, letters it will print: 3) prospective employers must satisfy themselves of each applicant's merits...
Meanwhile, the college of the 100 classics had run afoul of its first big snag. Some immortal thinkers are out of print, others have never been translated from the original Greek or Latin. To rescue their imperishable thoughts from oblivion and make them available to its students, St. John's has had to make its own translations, print its own copies of such thinkers as Nicomachus, Apollonius, Lucian, Gilbert, Aristarchus...
...opened in Manhattan, all critics agreed that it split their eardrums, few admitted that it split their sides. One of the few was Critic Walter Winchell. Winchell razzed his fellow critics, claimed that seven out of eight had also "laughed & laughed & laughed" but were ashamed to admit it in print next day. In the uproar which followed, three-ring Critic George Jean Nathan (Esquire, Newsweek, Scribner's) backed up Winchell, called Hellzapoppin "funnier than the Pulitzer Prize"; Critic John Anderson (N. Y. Journal & American} refused to budge an inch; wisecrackers in general suggested that Winchell must have bought...
Between Columnists James Westbrook Pegler and Heywood Campbell Broun there had long existed a somewhat strained out-of-print friendship. In print, "Old Peg," ever scornful of anything that looks like uplift, called his friend "old Bleeding Heart Broun," "the fat Mahatma." Two months ago, Columnist Pegler jabbed a particularly tender spot. American Newspaper Guild President Broun was operating a scab shop, he wrote, because the Connecticut Nutmeg, of which Broun is one-tenth owner-editor, had hired a non-union reporter. Next week, from his regular page in the New Republic, President Broun heatedly denied he had anything...
Being a kind and patient man in private life, it would take what Pegler calls a "Viennese head-feeler" to explain his acidity in print. Born in Minneapolis, he worked for the United Press in the U.S. and abroad, wrote a column of sports comment before Roy Howard brought him to the New York World-Telegram in 1933 and made the universe his beat. Pegler is a laborious writer; his brisk, integrated sentences are the result of patient rewriting. Most of his turbulent columns are composed in the seclusion of his Pound Ridge, N. Y. estate, near the haunts...