Word: roome
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Dates: during 1940-1949
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...hours before dawn, a bleary-eyed night porter at The Hague's stuffy Hotel des Indes (named for The Netherlands' once vast and profitable colonies) opened the heavy oaken door for a weary guest, who went promptly to his room, and to sleep. He was slim, patient Jan Herman van Royen, able career diplomat and chief Dutch troubleshooter at The Hague Round Table Conference, which had been called to settle the differences between Indonesia and The Netherlands (TIME, Sept. 5). Van Royen had just wound up a crucial committee meeting which seemed to assure the conference...
...there is no doubt who is boss. A TIME correspondent recently watched Marquot among his workers. Against the eerie background of a dozen gaping furnaces belching fire, men & women moved swiftly as fireflies carrying red-hot glass at the end of prongs, molding, blowing, cooling. There was not much room, but the workers never got in each other's way. Said the capitaliste éclairé, "It is all a matter of going to the right place at the right speed at the right time...
...President Perón," said Dr. Ivanissevich, "never leaves a faucet running more than is absolutely necessary. President Perón, when he leaves a room, puts out all the lights himself. In this way he saves money which would otherwise go abroad to pay for coal and oil. General Perón is also very careful about his clothes. You will never see a spot of dirt or cigarette ash on his suit, and that is not simply because his servants remove the stain. It is because he does not soil his clothes. When a suit gets dirty...
Ernie Byfield, Chicago hotelman and nightclub impresario (the Pump Room, the College Inn), reached 60, took a dim view of the bistro business: "Nightclubs are like gold mines. For every ten bucks you put in, one buck is extracted . . . Old nightclubs and old streetwalkers are the same. The older they get, the less money they take...
...night last week, an audience that overflowed into every inch of standing-room space in Manhattan's Metropolitan Opera House listened breathlessly as the great gold curtain closed to the last romantic bars of Tchaikovsky's Sleeping Beauty. As the footlights went up and the curtain parted again, a roar of applause rose to the Met's gilded ceiling. Time after time, panting dancers took their bows, then skipped gracefully out of view. When at last a slender and dark-haired little ballerina appeared alone, the audience rose to its feet and cheered...