Word: suburbanality
(lookup in dictionary)
(lookup stats)
Dates: during 1950-1959
Sort By: most recent first
(reverse)
...village president of suburban Glenview, Ill. met with his board of trustees last week and took a "malicious pleasure in hacking and slashing," as he later confessed. What he hacked and slashed was spending items in the village's new budget, such as the library's request for $91,000 (cut by nearly one-third) and the building commissioner's request for a $2,500 car (cut to $1,800). Explained President Jack Mabley, who makes his living as a Chicago Daily News columnist: "There's a feeling of frustration and desperation among the taxpayers...
...Beauharnois lock, Elizabeth, like a suburban housewife back-seat driving a new station wagon, worried as the yacht warped close to the concrete walls. In mock alarm, she enlisted Ike's help, and each reached over the rail with both arms to help fend the 5,769-ton ship away from the abrasive concrete. When the crisis passed, Elizabeth hurried to the side of John Diefenbaker to demonstrate with thumb and forefinger how close the ship had come to scarring its paint. Above the lock Elizabeth and Philip left the ship to> escort Ike and Mamie to their waiting...
...cross carved into the doxy's forehead. Bill had even more grandiose ideas of the code of the caïd. When Dominique told him that she could not pay the 500,000-franc "fine" she owed him, he offered to help her pull off a stickup in suburban Fontainebleau to raise the money...
...Hogan, 46, shared the lead in the first round, but could not stand the pace. Sam Snead, 45, got hot for one three-under-par round, then subsided. By the final 18 holes of the U.S. Open golf tournament at the Winged Foot Country Club course in suburban Mamaroneck, N.Y., young (27) Bill Casper Jr. held a three-stroke lead. On the last day Bill Casper, golf's best putter, bogeyed three of the last eight holes, but finished with a 72-hole total of 282, two over par. Then he sat back to wait, and wait. Into contention...
...green ranch house is midcentury, middle-class suburban. Its picture windows, once the pride of a wrong-armed infielder named Preston Ward (since departed for Kansas City), glare across the scrubby, rattlesnake-infested foothills toward the San Fernando Valley. As the Thunderbird flies, the place is 12 smoggy miles from the manicured canyons of Bel Air and Beverly Hills, where a movie star ought to live. By classical Hollywood standards, this pad is so far out that it might as well be in Oshkosh or Altoona or on a space platform, and the girl who lives there is even farther...