Word: tuned
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Dates: during 1940-1949
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...second attempt in two years to amend the state's 52-year-old constitution to permit divorce. The House suggested as suitable grounds: incurable insanity, habitual drunkenness and physical cruelty. But chances of approval by the stand-pat Senate were slim. ¶ Jack McVea's raucous tune Open the Door, Richard! (TIME, Feb. 10) was running through the country's veins like a low-grade fever. In San Antonio, a man named Richard was kept up all night by people ringing the doorbell and chanting the refrain. And in Manhattan old Jake Ruppert's brewery made...
With a cry for his "Mammy" and a Jolson-like rasp agitating his Adam's apple to the tune of "You Made Me Love You," Edward M. Lamont '48 tossed his Hasty Pudding and Eliot House inhibitions to the winds of the Loew's State air conditioner last night and triumphantly made his way to the finals of the publicity-born Al Jolson singing jamboree...
...title came out of an old burlesque theater drunk skit. Jack McVea, leader of a small West Coast Negro jazz band, had heard the skit years ago-and the phrase stuck. Last summer on a rainy day in Portland, Ore. he wrote a simple riff tune for it and later recorded it-leaving out the references to whiskey. Disc jockeys in Los Angeles started plugging it last month, and soon McVea's record had sold 300,000 copies, mostly on the West Coast. As soon as it caught on, McVea heard from the lawyers of John Mason...
Last week Richard had even made a hit out of McVea's little-known jazz band. After singing the tune for what he estimated was the 500th time, McVea said: "It's just one of those things. I might not be able to do anything like it again." But he was willing to try. He had a sequel all ready, called The Key Is in the Mailbox...
...Played well? You bet he did. When he first sit down, he peered to care mighty little about playing, and wished he hadn't come. He tweedle-eedled a little on the treble, and twoodle-oodled some on the bass. . . . All of a sudden, old Ruby changed his tune. . . . He lit into them keys like a thousand of brick. He give 'em no rest, day or night. He set every living joint in me agoing, and not being able to stand it no longer, I jumped spang into my seat and jest hollered: 'Go it, my Rube...