Word: vineyarders
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During the roaring 1920s, Ed turned up on the noisiest and brashest of Manhattan's tabloids, the scandal-shrieking Evening-Graphic, where Walter Winchell was beginning his labors in the vineyard of gossip. The meeting of Sullivan and Winchell was explosive. Out of their four years together on the Graphic grew a feud that lasts to this day. Says Ed: "Winchell's all through-and I'm an expert on Winchelliana. I've followed him like a hawk. He's a dead duck. He couldn't be resuscitated by injections at half-hour intervals...
Twas in the good year 1717 when that evil pirate, Captain Bellame sailed north from the West Indies to pass the winter in the more comfortable shipping lanes off Newfoundland. Near Martha's Vineyard he impressed a Yankee fisherman to pilot his ship past Long Island. The new skipper, apparently unhappy, ran the ships aground on Norsett Barr during a storm...
Reason to Live. Their main task is to work among youth in East Harlem's concrete vineyard. Occasionally they make peace among warring street gangs, stage drives against narcotics, or organize meetings to urge reforms. But most of their work is less dramatic. Both boys and girls handle groups of children ranging from three-year-olds to teenagers. They hold Bible classes, teach handicrafts, chaperone teen-age dances at church recreation centers, take youngsters on trips to beaches, museums, ball games, or on hikes and camping trips. When they find that their charges belong to a street gang, they...
...other than be a minister"). She took a B.D. at King's College, London University, in 1946 was appointed first woman chaplain to the armed forces. The next year she married a Church of England priest, the Rev. John Carrington. For a while she was pastor of the Vineyard Congregational Church in Richmond, Surrey, about four miles from Hampton, where her husband is vicar, but she gave that up officially (she still preaches there) to join the interdenominational religious staff...
Through the winter, young Bertrand Peyrelongue gazed at the vineyards surrounding his ancient château on the Gironde and mourned the lost days when fine wines were treated with the respect they deserved. Those were the days when the vineyard patrons of the sun-kissed Médoc district personally carried their finest Bordeaux vintages across the Channel and sold them at a Thames quayside to discriminating London vintners. "A good wine," sad Bertrand, "should have personal attention. It is a patron's duty." As spring's tender new shoots peeped from the wintry canes...