Word: raced
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Dates: during 1940-1949
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...companions in this minor misery, the President has Adviser George Allen (219 Ibs.) and Military Aide Harry H. Vaughan (228 Ibs.) Heavyweights Allen and Vaughan began their own reducing race Jan. 1, will end it on Valentine's Day, with the champion receiving $1 for every pound of his winning margin. Their referee is Harry Truman, whom they call their "fact-finding committee." The President was mercifully excused from the race, it was explained, because "he didn't have the ammunition"-i.e., pounds...
Almost two decades have passed since Wall Street was entertained by the neck & neck race between National City Bank's Charles Mitchell and Chase National Bank's Albert Wiggin for the title of the nation's biggest bank. Chase won out, via mergers with other banks, and held its lead till three months ago. Then a brash West Coast upstart, old A. P. Gian nini's Bank of America, pushed past...
...Grenviles . . .!" Throughout England's wild West Country, in the 17th Century, no family could hold a candle to the wild Grenviles. "There was some quality in the race, some white undaunted spirit bred in their bones . . . surging through their blood." When roisterous Sir Richard, most dashing of all the Grenviles, met bitter-sweet Mistress Honor Harris over a dinner of roast swan and burgundy, their seismic passion rocked the country. "Oh wild betrothal, startling and swift . . .!" Gossips recounted how he had ". , . shamed me in a room in Plymouth . . . carried me [away] by force-[that] I ... lived as his mistress...
...unmistakable English church-going pace . . . holding, bound in black lambskin and white celluloid, the liturgies of half a dozen conflicting sects; on their way to St. Barnabas, St. Columba, St. Aloysius, St. Mary's, Pusey House. Blackfriars ... all in the summer sunshine going to the temples of their race. Four proud infidels alone proclaimed their dissent: four Indians from the gates of Balliol, in freshly laundered white flannels and neatly pressed blazers, with snow-white turbans on their heads, and in their plump, brown hands bright cushions, a picnic basket and the Unpleasant Plays of Bernard Shaw...
...possess nothing certainly except the past-were always with me. . . . These memories are the memorials and pledges of the vital hours of a lifetime. These hours of afflatus in the human spirit, the springs of art, are, in their mystery, akin to the epochs of history, when a race which for centuries has lived content, unknown, behind its own frontiers, digging, eating, sleeping, begetting, doing what was requisite for survival and nothing else, will, for a generation or two, stupefy the world; commit all manner of crimes, perhaps; follow the wildest chimeras, go down in the end in agony...