Word: roome
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Dates: during 1930-1939
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...Washington correspondents, for the President's usual bi-weekly press conference. As usual, the reporters fell into two groups: 1) those assigned exclusively to cover President Roosevelt's activities, 2) other correspondents and their newspaper friends. Members of the first group drifted toward the front of the room, as usual, and as usual the United Press's tremendous Fred Storm lowered himself into his special chair so that those in the rear could see past him. Franklin Roosevelt gripped a long cigaret holder in his jaw, as he almost always does...
...President's jaw was set hard and Franklin Roosevelt did not grin at his interviewers. Most of the correspondents looked uncomfortable. The room was quiet as a church. The President broke the silence, made his announcement on neutrality. The questions asked him were terse and sober; his replies were concise. Not a word did Franklin Roosevelt say to Fred Storm, one of his favorite correspondents, about his leaving U. P. to work for Sam Goldwyn and Jimmy Roosevelt in Hollywood. When the conference was over the newspapermen filed out as quietly as they had entered, and everybody knew that...
Joint owners of the paper, their interest in it had been confined to 1) how much money it made, 2) how well it did by their friends in society. Paul Smith talked Publisher George Cameron into giving him a little elbow room and the next thing San Francisco knew the Chronicle had defied a shipowners' and merchants' boycott, front-paged a defiant editorial declaring its independence of The Interests...
...Wilford Smith grew older, his friends died off. As he grew poorer, he made friends with stray dogs. He kept them on mattresses in a spare room, bought them tags and food. Said he: "They make grand boarders. They are always on time for meals." But his oldest friend was liquor, and this friend did him in. His funeral was conducted by the Elks ("my church") and the Bill of Rights read over his grave...
...directors' table in the big board room of Jersey City's First National Bank one day last week sat handsome, strapping Oscar Cintas, a long Cuban cigarette between his slim fingers, a sleekly rolled umbrella between his well-tailored knees. Across the table, and nervous under Oscar Cintas' blazing black eyes, sat gnome-like Charlie Hardy. Jampacked in the room were some 125 A. C. F. stockholders, come to the annual meeting to see Hardy and Cintas, no longer friends, have...