Word: small
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Dates: during 1930-1939
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...from dying Czecho-Slovakia last March and which the Nazis once thought of using for a jump-off into the Russian Ukraine. All this indicated that when Comrade Stalin finished with the "northern cousins" he may very well turn toward the Finns' southern relatives and put in a small claim...
Among the promising candidates for this year's All-America is Bill Bofenkamp, "Rooter king" at Minnesota. Like most of his confreres, Bofenkamp is small and wiry (tall cheerleaders went out of style when acrobatics came in), spends two afternoons a week rehearsing with his assistants, has a repertory of a dozen yells, a dozen stunts. Back flips and tumbling are touchdown stunts. Skits are put on between halves...
...years ago promoters of professional football were unable to fill a good-sized stadium, even with Annie Oakleys. Last Sunday 62,000 football fans jampacked Manhattan's Polo Grounds for a championship* game between the New York Giants and the Washington Redskins. The crowd was small compared to the 102,000 who watched the Army-Navy game in Philadelphia the day before. But more than 50,000 applications for tickets had been turned down, and speculators had little difficulty in getting $25 a seat from fans eager to see what they considered the best football game of the year...
Morning's at Seven (by Paul Osborn; produced by Dwight Deere Wiman). Two seasons ago the Broadway critics threw their hats in the air over Playwright Osborn's On Borrowed Time, a deft piece of flimsy-whimsey about a small boy, an old man, and Death kept at bay in an apple tree. When Osborn's Morning's at Seven opened last week, many more critical thumbs went down than hats went up. All the same, Morning's at Seven is as much better than On Borrowed Time as butter is than margarine...
...probably closer to the U. S. common denominator than Our Town or Life with Father. Much more of this life is skim milk or spilt milk than cream. It is a chronicle of vanishing dreams and growing regrets, of crotchets and quirks, affection and annoyance, gossip and eavesdropping, small skeletons in large closets. It fails to be drab because, at 70, its people are still kicking their heels, raising their voices, cocking their ears. They talk ridiculous bromides, but with passion ; they make absurd gestures, but with feeling. They are for the most part real, and for the most part...