Word: redness
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Dates: during 1940-1949
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...D.P.s were all foreigners, and most likely spies and saboteurs to boot. "There is no question in the world but what many of those now in the D.P. camps were planted there deliberately to infiltrate this country," Gossett declaimed. "They came here with the connivance and assistance...of the Red governments from whom they have allegedly fled. All of this business about these poor people not being able to go home because they would be liquidated is pure unadulterated bosh...
...crackers sat in the sun, their backs to the decaying summer house and watched the strangers. Irwinton seemed full of strangers, their cars raising clouds of red Georgia dust. Said one resentfully: "We had a white man lay over in a swamp near Big Sandy Creek till the buzzards ate him up, and they found his bones. We didn't have a single newspaperman look at the bones. But seein' as Picky Pie is a nigger he makes headlines." Irwinton was reacting to 1949's first lynching...
...plan, the authorities were supposed to send him back to London, and London back again to Brussels, so that he would dramatically shuttle back & forth until the world got the point (whatever the point was). But the Belgians did not stick to the scenario and put Clarin in the red brick prison known in Brussels as the Little Castle. For two weeks, the world citizen stayed in a cell together with two dozen common drunks...
Honor Balfour cabled: "This is a conference of worried men. From back-street boarding houses to the big, red brick Cliffs Hotel on the upper-class north shore, there's a sense of disquiet, restiveness, uncertainty. Gone are the days when delegates huddled in eager groups in cafes and lounges, heads thrust forward in lively argument, eyes shining in anticipation of a great crusade. Gone are the more recent days when, flushed with new power, they sank into easy chairs and sprawled in happy discussion, secure in the knowledge that an order to their parliamentary steamroller would change...
Taking his red-slippered ease in the garden of his Riviera villa last week, the frail, friendly painter thought he might do some more portraits: "Someone wants me to try a self-portrait and I've been putting it off and off. Now I rather think I'd like to have a go at it." Meanwhile he supposed he would go on filling his days with sketches of the surrounding landscape, and escorting his pretty wife to the Casino at Monte Carlo now and then in the evenings, for a spot of gambling...