Word: spading
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...corner was 39-year-old Maurice Travis, boss of the militant Mine, Mill and Smelter Workers, who lost an eye and several teeth last year as the result of a labor brawl.† In the smoke-filled auditorium of the C.I.O. Steelworkers Washington headquarters, the Clothing Workers' spade-bearded Jacob Potofsky read the indictment, which was also a good case history of how the Communists controlled some U.S. labor unions. Said the Potofsky indictment...
Sadly the little man ran his eye over the cluttered warehouse yard. "The court," he sighed, waving a hand, "of the illustrious unknown." Foreign Ministry Official Sylva Poullin was knee-deep in statues: men of the Second Empire with pointed goatees and spiked mustaches, Third Republicans with voluptuous spade beards, poets, politicians, schoolteachers and generals, the Roman god Mars and France's own Marianne, her bronze face pushed in. Like many more famous works of art, they had been patiently salvaged from Germany after the war by France's conscientious Commission de Récupération Artistique...
...Spade-bearded Ivan Mestrovic is a man who puts strong feelings into his sculpture (TIME, Aug. 30, 1948), and has plenty left over when he has laid aside his mallet. Last week Mestrovic received an urgent invitation to return to Yugoslavia, where he was born and made his fame. The invitation came through Fellow Sculptor Jo Davidson, who had recently completed a bust of Marshal Tito, and it was from the Dictator himself. "Tell Mestrovic," Tito had said, "not to be a fool. Tell him to come back." The expatriate sculptor's blunt reply: "Too many of my friends...
Last week the Société des Amis d'Eugène Delacroix, which now rents the master's quiet Left Bank studio for exhibition purposes, was sputtering through its collective white spade beard about a brand-new horror. At year's end Delacroix' place would be up for sale, and rumor had it that a nightclub was dickering for the property. The Société felt that Delacroix, who had been a close friend of Chopin, would conceivably have found le jazz hot even weirder than the art of his modernist descendents...
Where are the beards of yesteryear-the "Spade," the "Tile," the "Uncle Sam," the "Van Dyke," the "Piccadilly Weeper," the "Cathedral?" Where is the like of Huguenot Admiral de Coligny's beard, which served as a pincushion for the admiral's toothpicks? Where is the beaver of iyth Century Bishop Camus of Bellai-a growth so formidable that he used to split it up, as an aid to memory, into the necessary sections and subsections of his sermons? And where is the beard of Austrian Burgomaster Hans Steininger-the one in which he caught his toe, tripped...