Word: tuxedoed
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Either way, the issues of the McDonald-Abel fight were certain to reverberate like an anvil chorus for a long time in steel uniondom and in the executive suites of the industry. In his campaign, Abel accused McDonald of "tuxedo trade unionism," a euphemism for the charge that McDonald has been too friendly with Big Steel's management. McDonald, said Abel, had failed to keep in touch with local problems, had "swept them under the rug, and now the mound is so high you stumble over...
...being fought. It is replete with denunciation and sarcasm, lapel buttons and helmet stickers, kleig lights and sound trucks at mill gates and union halls. Abel portrays McDonald as a has-been who prefers nightclubs and Palm Springs to the open hearth and McKeesport, calls for the rejection of "tuxedo unionism," and charges that the Steelworkers have suffered from McDonald's "happy-go-lucky, old-buddy, old-pal negotiations" with industry. McDonald, warming to the fight and seeming to pick up strength as he does, belittles Abel's qualifications, calls him "a pretty good bookkeeper," and says that...
...Tuxedos & Secrecy. The bankers twisted a few arms, carefully kept excitement out of their voices to ensure that foreign bankers got no chance impression of panic, and made occasional use of what is known in Washington as "the crossruff": the practice of getting someone to join a party by telling him someone else is coming in. The need for secrecy was so important that in the midst of negotiations, Roosa even donned a tuxedo in the office and went off to a scheduled piano recital at the Polish embassy lest anyone suspect by his absence what was afoot. He kept...
Beckmann painted "Self-Portrait with a Cigarette" in 1950, the year of his death. Here he steps back from the overpowering stance of the "Tuxedo." He averts his eyes, as if from his immediate presence to a meditation on his past, in a review of all of the various stages of his life history captured in his previous self-portraits. This is his last. He stands before an empty canvas, smoking to a finish the cigarette which he has always held before him, the symbol of transitoriness, burning to an end. Beckmann is dying...
...historic stature of the artist in his tuxedo has shrunken, a near-cadaver fills his loosely-fitting clothes. He is propped and cramped by the chair at his side. His face has grown less well defined--his once fleshy nose now skeletal cartilage--the light now emanates from his forehead. Pensive and intent he listens for the end. He reflects upon his life in what will be his last self-portait. This man courageously and resolutely wrestled with the terrible angel and himself: "Perhaps then we can find ourselves, see ourselves in the work of art. Because ultimately, all seeking...