Word: vendor
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Dates: during 1930-1939
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Sirs: . . . Anent the story of the Washington peanut vendor, it is the perfect publicity story. If said story was saved during election campaign, it could net candidate using it 100,000 votes throughout the country. The story is the acme of a pressagent's glorious triumph-pathos, human interest, and the milk of human kindness- also BUNK. The story was obviously concocted to entrench more solidly the President with the ''masses," and of course it brought countless remarks from the gullible as to the kindness of the understanding pilot of the great ship of state. Would TIME...
...last week no other peanut vendor had been alert or bold enough to poach the territory of "Steve" Vasilakos,. who gratefully donated one day's receipts ($9.45) to the President's Warm Springs Fund...
Nicholas Stephanos Vasilakos echoes with more than sentiment to some persons. It echoes with romance to me and many others who have bought the wares of this peanut and pop corn vendor. Across "the Avenue" "David Belasco's" theatre rests. Many a romantic couple have before or after the show bought of the man on Pennsylvania & East Executive Avenues. More romantic, however, have been the purchases of this man in the form of peanuts to be fed to squirrels and pigeons across the way, as cater-cornered to N. S. V.'s stand is a small park where...
...finances, the supposition is always made, if it is not consciously formulated, that a slack period is an ideal time in which to force liquidation on borrowers. There has been a failure to distinguish between the character of debt which should be permanent, such debt which a popcorn vendor runs up at the local hofbrau. Debts on such enterprises as the Middle West Utilities, whether they are notes or bonds, should be freed from the liquidating impulse of the business cycle. If it be objected that this would mean a fundamental change in the credit mechanism, one can only reply...
...Philip Frances Samuels, Baconian scholar, editor, and independent book vendor, uncrooked one elbow from around a copy of "Ear ce Rammed," peered intently through his spectacles, and poked a long bony finger at the CRIMSON reporter. "Sure, I'm still here," said he, indicating with a jerk of his head the irregular piles of volumes stacked along the side of his hole in the wall at 30a Boylston St. "Sure, the cops've got nothing on me. They're just trying to scare me out. I don't have to have any license...