Word: richness
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Dates: during 1930-1939
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Life in The Netherlands Indies is abundant. Dutch colonials grow rich on oil and rubber, fat on Bols gin and rijsttafel ("rice-table," a huge meal which requires a dozen natives to serve). Their activities at clubs are so serious as to be nearer worship than relaxation. The social hierarchy is solid and rigid as a marble staircase. After a party at the Harmonic Club in Batavia, Java, chauffeurs must line cars up according to their masters' standing, so that 20,000-guilders-a-year may drive off before 15,000-guilders-a-year...
...sooner or later, the Nobel Prize for Literature went to Finland. Recipient: Frans Eemil Sillanpää, 51, shaven-headed, potbellied, hard-drinking Finnish widower. When he heard the news, Sillanpää, a government pensioner, sent his seven children through the suburbs of Helsinki shouting: "Father's rich!" To reporters he said, "I'm going to do what Knut Hamsun* did, disappear for two weeks in a bottle." Next day he announced his engagement to his secretary...
Gypsy Smith began evangelizing New York last month in The Bronx, delivered 13 sermons in rich, old Fifth Avenue Presbyterian Church, moved uptown again last fortnight. He winds up his engagement this week in no less august a fane than the Cathedral of St. John the Divine, with Bishop William Thomas Manning presiding. To his audiences, Gypsy Smith's black eyes have seemed as keen as ever, his voice mellow, his frame limber. (Only last year he married for the second time: a 26-year-old to whom he had long been "my hero.") Never a ranter, Gypsy Smith...
...Kaufman cracks his jokes with a dead pan, goes through life with a mournful one. Rangy and restless, hard to know, harder to understand, always blunt, often brusque, occasionally brutal, he is completely free from affectations but bulging with quirks. He is frightened of growing old, or being considered rich, or losing his hair. He forms friendships slowly, feels he has few friends. He talks to himself, makes strange faces, nods his head -a woman who sat opposite his desk at the Times for a long time wondered why he was always graciously bowing...
...Nashville, Tenn., 50 years ago, lived a family named Rhea. Father Rhea ran a line of river boats on the Mississippi, loved the stockmarket, had been several times rich, several times poor. The family totem pole was the Wall Street Journal. Before his son Robert was out of high school, Father Rhea gave him the Journal's difficult William Peter Hamilton editorials on the Dow Theory of stock prices, told him to master them or get spanked...