Word: tobaccoed
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Dates: during 1940-1949
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...Sarria, a group of 17 Quonset huts. A curly-haired Pole, 19, announced proudly that he was a tractorista, that he was ready to start work on one of the cooperative farm colonies organized by the Government in the fertile interior to grow corn, potatoes, beans, rice, coffee, tobacco. An Italian with a shy little wife and black-eyed little girl was to go to a privately owned hacienda in Carabobo. Another, a bank clerk in Italy, had a job as a hotel waiter. Said he: "You have to start somewhere...
...hierarchy, nothing is much lower than a summer replacement. Few performers make the grade from an easy summer show to the rigorous winter competition. This week a comedian made it. Jack Paar, an unpredictable young man (29) with a windblown sense of humor, was kept on by the American Tobacco Co. and given cozy quarters (9:30 to 10 p.m.-between Abbott & Costello and Bing Crosby) on ABC's Wednesday night program powerhouse...
...complete turns of the Pacific to his credit and the war ended, Paar turned his fat press notices into a movie contract and a radio show for Camel cigarets. He lasted exactly three weeks. "They cut my lines," he says. "They had no understanding of the real me." American Tobacco came to the rescue...
Dress & Doll. Sophie was born in Houston, Tex. Her father, Felix Haas, a tobacco merchant, died when she was four years old and a year later her mother married Dr. John Alexander McLeay, a Canadian surgeon, and the family moved to Atlanta, Ga. (Now 80, Mrs. McLeay lives alone at New York's Hotel Delmonico.) Sophie's first fling at designing was as a child in Atlanta; she made clothes for her dolls. Her mother believed in girls' marrying young, so Sophie obliged her by marrying at 19, went to live with her husband in Philadelphia, where...
...near Rhinebeck, he turned into a farm for directions. "The farmer was painting his barn and the Boss drove up beside him. 'Can you tell me where the Halton place is?' the President asked. The farmer looked down at . . . the President, spat a pint or so of tobacco juice past the car, and motioned. 'Down there, about a quarter of a mile.' 'Thank you,' said the Boss. The farmer grunted without turning, 'That's all right...