Word: shacked
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Pumps & Profits. Years ago, a marina could be built for a few thousand dollars: a wooden-piling dock, a gas pump, a shack to sell beer and bait. Today's marina may cost as much as $10 million or more for a layout as complete as any inland shopping center. Run properly, with low dockage rates (anywhere from ½?to 6? per foot per day depending on season) and efficient service, it can produce a handsome profit for any businessman. Says one East Coast marinaman: "With good management, you can conservatively make a 20% return on your investment each...
...welcome one. Too often the Advocate seems to stand for a romantic idea of literature, a kind of filigree on a Golden Bowl. Mr. Eberhart's poetry, by way of contrast, arises from a feeling and attention for ordinary experience. His toying with insects in a country shack gives him the sensation of being a god and conjures up Michelangelo's gesture of the Lord giving the spark of life to Adam. Perhaps the result is not the greatest poetry ever written, but it is a genuine poetic attempt. Mr. Robert Lowell rightly introduced Eberhart...
...unbranded cattle), lives like a patriarch among a mob of women, and toward the end of a misspent life is so rich that he threatens to entertain a visiting royal duke, presumably the Duke of York, later King George VI of Britain. For years Tony had lived in a shack and never learned to read, but he employed a man to read good books to him-like Rudyard Kipling...
...Anderson, as the purported Anastasia called herself, brought suit against the House of Hesse for her legacy. Interrupted by war and Russian occupation, the suit dragged on. In 1950 Anna herself, a fuzzy-minded, aging woman surrounded by a court of solicitous refugees, was living in an old army shack on the edge of the Black Forest, as a poverty-stricken pensioner of Prince Friedrich Ernst von Sachsen-Altenburg...
Outside the little shack the snow was packed in deep drifts. Beyond its white expanse lay the forbidding waters of the Sea of Okhotsk, already thick with pack ice drifting down from Siberia. Inside, protected from the cold by walls papered with pages from popular Japanese magazines, barefoot Minoru Goto shuffled toward the iron stove with another piece of kindling and awaited the return of her children from school. "The first thing they'll say is, 'I'm hungry,' " she sighed, "but even if they ask, we don't have anything for them these days...