Word: thunderstorms
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...arid patch of ground over which he can climb a rising flow of warm air as he would a circular staircase. A high development of the sport is "cloud-hopping," "hooking on" beneath a cumulus cloud, which always indicates warm air, and riding it for miles. Similarly an advancing thunderstorm always pushes a column of warm air ahead of it. Parachutes are worn on such flights...
...automobile racing driver; and one Marian Leggett, 36; in Las Vegas, Nev. Honeymoon: seeking a job for him on Hoover Dam. Married, Sylvia ("Madame") Ulback, 51, Hollywood masseuse, author of gossipy Hollywood Undressed; and Edward Leiter, 39, actor, nephew of the late Chicago Tycoon Joseph Leiter; during a thunderstorm in Egremont, Mass. She divorced her first husband, one Andrew Ulback, secretly last fortnight in Mexico. Divorced. Ethel Catherwood McLaren, Canadian gymnast, "most beautiful woman athlete of the 1928 Olympic Games"; from James Gillan McLaren of Toronto; in Reno. Grounds: nonsupport. She intends to marry one Byron Mitchell, San Francisco gymnasium...
...characters requisite for mystery melodrama: two escaped murderers, two pursuing officers, a golden-hearted lad of the swamps who doubts his fitness to marry the professor's niece because his father "has snake's blood in his veins," a reporter for the Associated Press, an eloquent thunderstorm. The spider runs amok, hangs the two convicts from the rafters, drains them of blood, but not before one of them has annoyed the heroine by locking her in the spider's closet. The prison warden (Frank Shannon) points a suspicious finger at first one person, then another. The Japanese...
...Sarazen were still out on the course. Cruickshank reached the turn in 33 and Sarazen in 32. Cruickshank needed a 68 for the round to tie and Sarazen needed 69. They were playing against the worst hazard in golf, a carded score, and it looked as though a thunderstorm would blow over from Long Island Sound before they finished the last nine holes...
...John Emerson, acted by Hal Skelly and Zita Johann, is a shiftless and pitiably stupid homily which, esthetically and financially, should be an embarrassment to all concerned. Its story-of a steel-worker who takes to tippling and ends up with a case of delirium tremens in a thunderstorm-is really no story at all. The dialog is atrocious. Hal Skelly gives a drivelling performance. Zita Johann is miscast. The direction is preWar. Typical shot: Skelly, drunk on two whiffs of speakeasy Scotch, staggering home to a wife who shudders at his reeking breath...