Word: spic
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Dates: during 1950-1959
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Explained the story beneath: "Dropped axle, 4-inch-long shackles, reversed spring eyes and a leaf removed from the spring group account for snooping attitude of front end. Spic-and-span engine room houses a semi-torrid flathead with lightened flywheel, two-pot manifold, headers and special distributor . . . The lakes pipes are up front."* Thus the editors of Hot Rod magazine instructed do-it-yourself fans in the delicate art of transforming a 1940 Ford coupe into an authentic, snoop-fronted, 130-m.p.h. "iron...
...their gimmicks too obvious. They could not keep secrets. It was obvious that all the wooden buildings of Moscow had just been given fresh paint jobs. And everywhere the youth roamed in the city, the Russians were eager to brag about it. They were proud that their town was spic-and-span for the first time in 20 years...
...took in hand Johnson's own powerful .300 Magnum rifle with a telescopic sight and brought down a ten-point buck deer, at 309 paces, with a bullet right through the heart. Exulted Democrat Johnson: "The best deer killed in this part of the country this season!" Later, spic and span except for a spot of blood on his khaki pants, Hunter Kefauver met newsmen with his feat in his mouth, neatly tied the story in with his White House yearnings: "If I get down and start seeking [the presidential nomination], I hope I have that same sort...
Since each of these programs also plugs other cleansing products (Drene and Shasta shampoos, Ivory Snow and Flakes, Spic and Span), it is a wonder that the housewife can ever make up her mind which one to buy. But as long as she buys one, P. & G. will be happy. It makes them all. Now the nation's largest soapmaker, P. & G. manages to sell 119 bars, boxes, bottles and cans of its products every second of every day, every day of the year. Its share of the U.S. soap market has risen from...
...crawl all up my backbone," says Sergeant Terence, recounting the welcome-home to Peshawar of returning troops, in Love-o'-Women-and so, too, does the reader's backbone crawl as the bagpipes scream in the dawn light and a cavalry band, "shinin' an' spic like angils," adds the rattle of its "silver kettle-dhrums" to the shrieks of the wives and the terrible notes of the Dead March, sounding gruesomely from a regiment whose colonel has been killed...