Word: streetcars
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Dates: during 1930-1939
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Chairman McNinch comes from Charlotte, N. C., a thriving city of which he was twice mayor. A small but fearless Presbyterian Elder, in 1918 he armed a number of citizens as special police officers during a bloody streetcar strike, survived a recall vote that followed the disorders and picked up a local reputation for political effectiveness. In 1928 he jumped the Democratic Party to work for Mr. Hoover. Mr. McNinch is against liquor (he keeps a vacuum jug of milk on his desk) and Mr. Al Smith is not. President Hoover rewarded Frank McNinch with a seat on the Federal...
...corner, ready to pounce out at the customer's slightest beckoning. Packard, Pierce, Lincoln, and Buick have sought refuge a block away, their white tires carefully left an inch from the curb. James or William are reading their tabloids and ogling passing maids and nurses. But the streetcar still runs. It rumbles up to the great, grey building, shudders to a violent halt, relaxes with a compressed air sign, and allows passengers to scurry off. Two women, plump, middle-aged, the kind who dress the same for every occasion, every season, every time they go out of the house...
...days after amputation of his right leg; in Manhattan. With his partner Moe Smith, Izzy operated so successfully on what he called the "Einstein Theory of Rum Snooping" that as direct result of his raids 4,932 bartenders, bootleggers, speakeasy owners tripped to jail. Izzy liked to "play" streetcar conductor, gravedigger, fisherman, iceman, opera singer. He walked into the Democratic National Convention of 1924 (Manhattan) with a goatee glued to his chin, announcing himself as a delegate from Kentucky, found only soda...
...story garage in St. Louis, Mo. one afternoon last week, ten men gathered to watch a fight-to-death between two brindle American pit bulldogs-four laborers, a streetcar conductor, two merchants, three smartly dressed gentlemen. In the centre of the garage, into which rain dripped through the leaky roof, was a crude boxlike arena, 12 ft. square, with an old piece of canvas on the floor. A dirty white blanket was spread on an oil drum, to receive the dead body of the loser. A bucket and sponge were ready to lave the winner's wounds...
Luxuriating in the Pullmanesque accomodations of a Boston-bound streetcar as he was whisked at a mile-an-hour rate toward Mass. Station, the young Junior was deeply immersed in melancholy thoughts as the beautiful vistas of Central Square sped smoothly past his eye. He was brooding about how white snow can become black so quickly, about Necco Wafers as the orange monster zoomed past the candy factory, and about the impressive sheen on the back of all motormen's pants, when he suddenly became aware that he was being examined and discussed by the two persons seated directly...