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Word: raccoon (lookup in dictionary) (lookup stats)
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Despite what H. I. Phillips said in his New York Sun column Saturday, New Haven was just as chaotic and traditional this year as it was before the war. The drunks were there, so were the raccoon coats, and the Taft lobby was jammed solid. The open trolleys were out in flocks on Chapel Street, too, with their ex-acrobat conductors swinging along the sides picking up fares...

Author: By James G. Trager jr., | Title: ONE LAST LOOK | 12/4/1945 | See Source »

...Billion Dollar Baby" has two acts; the first is too long and monothemistic, feverishly satirizing the raccoon coat and bathtub gin, while the second, in a different vein, is a Daliesque stylization of a flapper's dream. The last scene is a throwback to Act I, with the flapper marrying the millionaire and the stock market tumbling down upon their presumably empty heads...

Author: NO WRITER ATTRIBUTED | Title: PLAYGOER | 11/27/1945 | See Source »

...Little Sister Nancy. Nancy "didn't bother much with the customary rules for the conduct of human beings," slept winter and summer clad in her raccoon coat...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Books: The Six Sousas | 10/25/1943 | See Source »

...Macready and Edwin Booth were hard put for audiences in any town where "cullud opera" was playing. In 1850 the great Booth himself gave a blackface performance at Bel Air, Md. P. T. Barnum once corked his own face and appeared in such early favorites as Zip Coon, The Raccoon Hunt, Gittin' Up Stairs. Stephen Foster wrote his masterpieces for minstrels. John Philip Sousa, Gentleman Jim Corbett and George M. Cohan's father all did their blackface stints...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: The Theater: Gentlemen, Be Seated | 9/27/1943 | See Source »

Fortunately, Mr. Acadian, despite his slack-lipped way of called the Yard, the "Yard," comes up with a solution, and a darn good one it it, too. A football game with Yale why not? I have the cutes raccoon coat, and a cunning little hip flash knocking around somewhere in the back of my closet, and I'm just itching for an excuse to use them. What are we waiting for, start those presses rolling, start those footballs floating through the crisp autumn air. "Get the boys out of the labs by Thanksgiving!" And what we'll do to these...

Author: NO WRITER ATTRIBUTED | Title: THE MAIL | 8/24/1943 | See Source »

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