Word: winds
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Dates: during 1920-1929
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...Your paragraph [TIME, Sept. 27], "Last week, as everyone knows, the rain and wind gods conspired with Neptune, wiped the 'Magic City' off the map," is dead wrong. Miami was not wiped off the map by any means, and is coming to the fore now with its rebuilding operations...
...when "The Birth of a Nation" was in the cradle of the deep beyond, and the negro question remains as cryptic, unsounded as the riddles of the sages. A farm group in the west knock in vain at the doors of public intelligence to find they beat as against wind. The great issues lie on the shelves, gathering dust, while politicians parade pretty toys for the inveterate voters. They know that the intellectuals will be off deciding whether the reactionary or the radical is the best fall bonnet, and as in the consulship of Marcellus, winter will come, spring will...
...midnight rain came softly pattering like children's footsteps. The barometer was 28.84. At 1 a.m. the wind blew 65 miles an hour. The barometer was 28.00. At 5:40 a.m. a screaming, slashing demoniacal 130-mile gale raged wilfully, lustily, triumphantly. The barometer was 27.75 (lowest ever recorded in the U. S.). Pelicans, gulls, petrels, royal terns swept in helplessly, crazily, were dashed against walls into broken lumps. The waters of the ocean on one side and of the Bay of Biscayne on the other swept over Bayshore Drive, met. People drowned like trapped puppies to the frivolous...
Then, suddenly, nine hours had passed like a distorted dream, and the wind-god raged moaning up the northeast coast toward Pensacola. No more would sport coats and plumed hats" stroll at Hialea Race track. It was gone. No more would dandies strut and women preen in Carl Fisher's fashionable Flamingo Hotel. It was wrecked. Five hundred bodies soaked in the streets, some wretchedly askew under logs, others stretched out peacefully by the Chamber of Commerce. Where had been one mammoth mansion sat a lone bathtub. And ghouls peered about, tampered with corpses...
...stood looking at an Eskimo and chuckling from time to time in a delighted fashion, as if he were watching the progress of a practical joke. The Eskimo paid no attention to Captain MacMillan. A big, blubber-bred man with a crouching sinewy figure, a face creased by the wind and reddened by the sun, he tilted an eye at the Woolworth Building. "Big house, by jingo," he said mildly...