Word: swelling
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Dates: during 1950-1959
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...picture offers one spiffy spoof of the '205, a Prohibition party with hoofing on the pool table, dunking in the fish pond and a charge at the punch bowl with drawn sabers. And there are some swell lines for those who relish the era's nasal note of prosperous disillusion. "There won't ever be no patter of little feet in my house," drones one pickled tomato, "unless I want to rent some mice." Best of all, Ella Fitzgerald and Peggy Lee sing real well, and pretty often...
...Thomas changed his strategy, decided to try the crossing the other way. He timed his 6:50 p.m. take-off from Port Angeles with a gentle evening ebb tide, put nearly four miles of water behind him in two hours. For once, the wind lay still and a gentle swell replaced the usual nasty chop. The water temperature was 48°. While a schooner scouted a mile ahead for friendly currents, the cruiser King Bacardi stayed with him. Once each hour, as Thomas rested, his handlers fed him orange juice through a plastic tube, gave him cigarettes to puff...
Best of Ten. Off Plum Island, Skipper Du Mont got the kind of break no sailor can guess in advance: he came upon a boat in distress. The ketch Rolling Stone, out of Red Bank, N.J., was rolling in the easy swell, her ensign flying upside down from the mizzenmast. She had lost her rudder shaft. Under the rules, no matter how much time Dr. Du Mont lost going to her aid, he would get a perfect score for leg 6. Within minutes, the Coast Guard had been called by radio, and Hurricane III was back on course...
...gentle wind blows from the south; then it dies away, and a hot and oppressive calm lies across the land. From the west comes a line of thunderheads. At first they are low on the horizon, but swiftly they rise and swell and dominate the sky. By this time, weather-wise Great Plains farmers, who know tornado signs, are sticking close to their cyclone cellars...
Kidney-Shaped Command Post. Today, Reuther, labor's aging (47) boy wonder, still looks boyish: no grey threads his reddish hair, no bags encase his eyes, no bulges swell his lean flanks. As a machinist, after a 13-hour factory day, he used to do calisthenics or swim at the Y. After a speech or meeting away from Detroit, he used to hike six or seven miles late at night before going to bed. A powerhouse of physical energy, he bounces and bounds with swift, long strides...