Word: subway
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Dates: during 1950-1959
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Mornings are difficult--what with people surging hither and yon in their daily occupations, the assaults of the shoe-shine boys, the little league, the baby carriage brigade and the woman shoppers; the subterranean rumble of the subway, the distant cacophony of bells, the mingled shouts of children and clash of pin-ball machines. Saddened (perhaps by the morning's news or the "No Loitering" sign), Harold sometimes sits at the corner table by the window and counts green book bags passing by or reads Kafka or sublimates with secretaries on their way to work...
Harold has a can of beer and a package of gum remaining; or a one-way subway token to Scollay Square (he can come back tomorrow); or English muffins and a cup of tea. Or a package of cigarettes. But it is night, the time of neon and lengthy shadows, streetlamps, hushed voices, nervous laughter, and sex. Night is Harold's garment of life...
...writes Harold on a sheet of yellow paper, belongs to the night and together they conspire against Boston. They live illicitly, caress each other with streetlamps and shadows and juke box symphonies, the soft sob of loss, the subway shudder and the sigh. Night warms is black limbs by the gutter fires and furnace spit. We should bottle the night, prone and passive, siphon it into leather canteen flasks, take swigs of it while sunning ourselves by the river, savour it after a French loave-lunch, rub it on our arm in lieu of excrement...
...came a workman's voice. Hands reached out to grasp Pat's. "Morning, Patrick," came a greeting. Then another and another: "Good luck, Pat" and "Give 'em hell, Pat." Pat Brown grinned happily, pumped hands with a proficiency that would make Estes Kefauver seem like a subway straphanger. "Hey," he cried to no one in particular. "I feel a speech coming on." Candidate Brown was in his element, doing what he knows and likes best. He was being just plain Pat, making himself liked-and running well ahead of the opposition...
Frederic Garrett Donner, a slight (5 ft. 8 in.), bespectacled, grey-haired commuter, catches the 7:34 out of Port Washington, L.I. each workday morning for Manhattan's Penn Station, where he changes to the subway for his Columbus Circle office. Like many another straphanger, Donner has a habit of leaning out impatiently over the subway platform to see whether his train is coming. Last week the uptown train roared in for Fred Donner, 55. In a major shift of General Motors personnel, Financial Vice President Donner was tapped to succeed retiring President Harlow Curtice as boss...