Word: quilting
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Directors and stockholders of Copenhagen's Nordic Feather Co. last week attended their annual meeting. News was good, goose down was up, feathers were flying and the quilt industry, like the armament trade, was booming. Most effusive was the general manager in his praises of handsome Adolf Hitler. Exports to Germany have risen sharply since Der Führer issued a decree granting 800 marks of government money to newlyweds. When purchasing quilts and pillows for their Aryan homes they have preferred the mountainous featherbeds of Nordic Feather...
...McGill and Erickson decried it. Airline operators, rumbling concerted protest, argued that lines not now engaged in air transport could not get ready to carry mail 45 days hence. Most vociferous was President Richard W. Robbins of Transcontinental & Western Air ("The Lindbergh Line"). Using such words as "insane," "crazy quilt," "ghastly blunder," "gorgeous comedy of public error," Mr. Robbins described last week's call for temporary bids as the "eighth distinct and conflicting policy adopted by the Post Office Department within . . . six weeks...
There was something new under a sun that rose one morning last week over Washington. Whether it was a permanent device for settling labor disputes or only a patchwork quilt under which old forces would continue their struggle in secret, no man knew for sure...
...with little tassels dangling from their caps. British sailors followed, and behind them a dismounted detachment of the 5th Inniskilling Dragoons, the British regiment of which Albert was Colonel-in-Chief. French troops preceded the Paris post of the American Legion. The flags of the Belgian Army formed a quilt of fluttering black, yellow and red against the grey sky. Every regiment was represented by a squad of nine men, marching abreast, the colonel at one end, a private at the other. King Albert's coffin, draped in the national flag, rode on a gun carriage. His trench helmet...
...Cooke was not yet 40." Old enough to go to war, they were also too canny. They wanted to be rich before they died. They all got their wish. The interwoven strands of their careers make up a pattern so complicated that at times it resembles a crazy quilt, but Author Josephson's patient unraveling shows a general if sometimes unconscious concentric design, spiraling ever closer to monopolistic unity. Rough-&-ready "Commodore" Cornelius Vander Bilt, plebeian founder of a proudly aristocratic family, trusted nobody, kept all his accounts in his head. One of his business letters: Gentlemen: You have...