Word: skies
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Dates: during 1920-1929
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...Three airplanes slid out of the sky and alighted at Boiling Field, Washington. A delegation carrying an invitation climbed out and proceeded to the White House. Mr. Coolidge received them. The spokesman, Capt. Edward V. ("Eddie"), Rickenbacker, made a little "speech and presented the strange invitation-an airplane with a wingspread of about two feet, and on its upper wing the words...
There was a second sign of the weather brewing. In Exeter, at Killerton Park, there was rain pouring out of the sky, but special trains, omnibuses, wagons, automobiles, drove straight to the spot. Under the flooding, 30,000 people stood for an hour and a half, stood while their umbrellas leaked and the pure water from Heaven dripped down the backs of their necks?stood and listened to a wizard whose wizardy, like all magic of slight and faery lore, was supposed long since to have vanished. What...
...Manhattan for 25 years, a preacher has exhorted Wall Street crowds to the practice of honor, tolerance and good will. He, the Reverend William Wilkinson, "the Bishop of Wall Street," has made a daily appearance in the financial district at noon, when sky-assaulting buildings dribble out humanity, let it eddy about for an hour, and suck it in again. The Bishop, attired in the decent cloth of his office, taking station outside the Morgan office, the Sub-Treasury building, or the Stock Exchange, has harangued tolerant gatherings of bottle-nosed clerks, pasty runners for brokerage houses, gentlemen's stenographers...
...last week a voice tumbled out of the sky that made the clerk in the Mineola Courthouse lift his head from his elbow and open his eyes. He stared around him, and discovered that all the people had run into the square, where they stood, jabbering together and pointing up to heaven...
...sound of an airplone motor in the sky is no novelty to the citizens of Mineola, L. I. Planes from the airport began to drone aver the town in 1917; they have never stopped. Mumbling like bumblebees by day, complaining by night like mosquitoes brushed, for their plaguery, from the beard of their God, their noise has jarred through the brains of the townsmen, mingling its drowsiness with the reveries of sleepyheads until that jargoning has become part of the normal somnolence of the place, part of the indistinguishable murmur of the summer countryside, the wash of the salt...