Word: rodes
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Dates: during 1940-1949
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...Gentlemen of labor . . . how faithfully you have imitated us of management! From 1933 to 1942 you rode high. You were tops. A friendly Administration in Washington. All sorts of favors fed to you daily from the Washington political table. Management weak and intimidated. So what did you do with your power? On the economic side you gave yourselves a labor boom, regardless of the consequences to any other element in the population. On the moral side you produced men like Browne and Bioff and Scalise who gave all labor a black...
...Cairo-bound Taurus Express rocked and clattered through the harsh, moonlit mountains of southern Turkey. In a latched compartment of the wagons-lits rode an elderly intriguer, Prince Barbu Stirbey of Rumania, and his elegant daughter, Princess Elise, wife of a British major. When control officers at the Levantine frontier saw the special British laissez-passer, they moved on quickly to the next compartment. Chained to Prince Stirbey's wrist as he slept that night was a small, red dispatch case containing, so it was said, Rumania's terms for quitting...
...rose to represent them in Washington longer (31 years) than any other man. He was born in a log cabin deep in the backwoods of western Kentucky, where "one-sucker" tobacco (black, heavy-leaf) is the crop. To earn his way into Georgia's tiny Emory College, he rode through the hills on a black horse, peddling kitchen utensils from the saddlebag; at the University of Virginia Law School he janitored and waited table. His first law job was in the office of Paducah's Judge W. S. Bishop (Irvin S. Cobb's fictional Judge Priest...
...incurred by the 30 of our boys who partook of matrimony last week and brought back their subsequent weekend entertainment with them. For myself, after four sleepless nights on a furlough ticket, mid bawling offspring, and with special attention to one dear three-year-old, name of Ralphy, who rode backwards in the seat ahead, chin hung over the back, drippin' orange juice, and with the most unexplainable silly grin on his face for a solid 600 miles, I will be content to go on running my chances at the Touraine with the multitude...
...bombing mission was long and risky: a 2,100-mile flight to hit the Jap-held nickel port of Pombelaa on Buton Island. Eleven men rode to battle in the big 6-24 Liberator bomber "Golden Gator," but only four lived to see their North Australian base again. Navigator Lieut. Robert Jones had tears in his eyes as he told Chicago Tribune Correspondent...