Word: tree
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Dates: during 1940-1949
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...schoolchildren in Jacksonville. Author is the late James Weldon Johnson, writer, lyricist, educator, first Negro to become a U.S. consul, secretary for 14 years of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People. Composer is his equally famed brother, J. Rosamond Johnson, popular song writer (Under the Bamboo Tree, Nobody's Lookin' but the Owl and the Moon), collector and arranger of spirituals, onetime musical director for Oscar Hammerstein, now (at 69) a minor actor in the revival of Gershwin's Porgy and Bess. The Johnson brothers thought little of their song after finishing...
City children were drafted for farm work. Komsomol boys & girls mobilized for tree cutting to replenish the lost coal resources in the Don. Peat and refuse were burned in furnaces. The scythe and sickle reappeared in grainfields. Horses (once-scorned symbols of kulak individualism) replaced tractors. A trade-union investigator was acclaimed a national hero when he found enough rusting scrap metal to make "450 light and medium tanks...
...efforts to cement the Freshmen entering in September turn out well, the Freshman Committee deserves a feather in its cap. If they end in a fiasco, it will be obvious that in trying to maintain the class feeling of the newcomers they have been barking up the wrong tree. Perhaps House activities will prove more successful in making the individual feel a part of wartime Harvard. At any rate, it will be known once and for all whether class unity means as much to the Freshmen as was once thought. This knowledge will be invaluable in dealing with Harvard classes...
...Signal Corps man made a line from telephone wires, hammered a fishing spoon out of a tin can and brought in strings of fat trout over the side of an assault boat. Others knock the heads off the foolish spruce partridge (Yukon chicken) which doze on the lower tree limbs in the summer twilight...
...Washington, "thin sharp remnants of the afternoon's cold wind dither across bleak LaFayette Square directly in front of the White House; tree limbs stick up bare and stark above the scant light of the posted lamps. . . . There is a silent deliberation in the movement of the cars. . . . Hundreds of pedestrians in a steady flow ease past the tall, iron picket fence separating the White House grounds from the avenue. . . . They move along quietly, talking if at all in whispers, subdued whispers. Silence on the avenue, despite the mob of cars, the mass of people, is apparent, deep enough...