Word: provincetowners
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...Provincetown, Mass, last week many a sea gull crouched fast in a huge white trap set by God. Through field glasses a Coast Guard lookout watched one try to take off from an ice floe. Vainly it beat the air with its long wings; one webbed foot was frozen fast. Soon the gull gave up, bent its sharp, hooked beak, sawed off the trapped leg and flew away. Other Coast Guardsmen last week found many a thin pinkish gull leg stuck upright...
Arthur Henry Weed '36, of Milton, was instantly killed in an accident early Saturday night, when the bicycle he was riding was struck by an automobile. The accident occurred on a country road near East Brewster. Weed, who lived in Leverett House, was returning from a bicycle trip to Provincetown with two companions, both Harvard Sophomores. They were uninjured...
...that "Ah Wilderness" is not what it might be, and that George M. Cohan carries the play by himself, making the evening quite pleasant. The greatest contemporary American play-wright,--so I have heard--Eugene O'Neill, has a difficult task in maintaining his reputation. When he was in Provincetown, he was comparatively unknown. He wrote slight one act plays for a while which still have a few followers. Then came success with a series of popular plays, but he was rarely heralded by critics as the foremost dramatist until he reached the psycho-analytical period. Here he reached...
...came out of the West to startle Chicago and Greenwich Village into a romantic revival. When he wrote Moon-Calf (1920), an autobiographical novel, thousands of adolescent readers found him excitingly like themselves. Sometime practicer of "free love," an editor of the old Masses, a pillar of the Provincetown Players, Floyd Dell used to seem the embodiment of intellectually flaming youth. Times have changed, but not Floyd Dell, 46. In this confidentially candid autobiography, Mooncalf Dell looks back on his generation's brief blooming, feels that it is good to be settled down. Admitting that he is wiser than...
...Southwest are over, but the border still remains. The only pioneers now are the Mexican immigrants, "humble track-workers and fruit-pickers." Sadly, somewhat senatorially Author Fergusson concludes: "Taos and Santa Fe now are art colonies. . . . Santa Fe now has much in common with Greenwich Village, Carmel, Provincetown and all those other foci of cultural infection which pimple the fair face of our land." The Author had a gun of his own at 9, at 11 began shooting deer, riding range with the cattlemen round his native Albuquerque, N. Mex. After a restless course at two universities he passed...