Word: vesting
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...stride, often eats heavy meals before he goes to the opera house, smokes all the cigars he wants to, drinks his aqvavit neat. His brown-eyed, Bavarian-born wife Kleinchen (real name Maria Hacker), who could almost be tucked into one of the pockets of his massive vest, keeps him well fed and amused. One of the things about her that amuses him most is the way they met. Originally a cinema actress with the old German UFA films, Frau Melchior landed in her future husband's garden in a parachute during the filming of a picture. Since their...
Capone, secure behind his bulletproof vest, his gunmen, his cordon of attorneys, his wall of alibis, was beyond the law. He was said to have $15,000,000 set aside just to grease his way out of trouble. He was arrested and questioned about the killing of Johnny Duffy, and released; arrested and questioned in the killing of Joe Howard, released again. He was indicted for violation of the Prohibition law in 1926; the indictment was quashed for lack of evidence. No one ever testified that the elegantly porcine hoodlum ever committed a murder...
...this figurehead as well as to her. Chosen for this temporary front job was Wage-Hour's white-maned, competent publicity man, Harold Duane Jacobs, a onetime Scripps-Howard editor who is capable of going to work in a green sports coat with orange stripes, pea-green vest, blue tie, grey shirt and grey flannels...
...tearing the all gently down. Fats himself plays fine rhythm and occasionally takes off on solo flights that are just as good as anything he has ever done. Plus the fact that he puts on a killer of a show all during the evening, busting all the remaining vest buttons with a little demonstration on the art of trucking at the end of the show...
...shirt sleeves at his desk, grabbing by turns at the three phones at his left, talking to Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain, to Lord Halifax, to Secretary of State Cordell Hull, to Franklin Roosevelt. As he always does, Kennedy worked with windows thrown wide, coat tossed on a rack, vest draped over a chair, the sleeves of his hard-collared shirt rolled over his freckled forearms, tugging his black suspenders, cussing, grumbling incoherently, snapping popgun orders...