Word: worsteds
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Dates: during 1930-1939
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...worst brawl Prussia's rowdy legislature has ever seen, but violence did not stop with the Deputies. As soon as the story leaked out, Communists and Hitlerites began punching each others' noses all over Germany. In Hamburg a mob of Communists swept down the street shouting "Hunger, Hunger!" breaking into a delicatessen store. A volley of police bullets stopped them. In Berlin a group of Hitlerites were trapped by a surly crowd in a railway tunnel, had to be rescued by police. In Cologne and at Remscheid Communist crowds did not wait to be charged, attacked the police...
Avowedly inspired by the Shaw-Terry letters, "In the Worst Possible Taste" travesties most of our contempories including G. B. S. and John Riddell themselves. Few escape unscathed. From Gertrude Stein to Floyd ("Hello Everybody") Gibbons, all receive their due. Presumably, the author takes nothing seriously, and because he has this delightfully flippant air, he can got away with a good deal that serious critics would never dare set forth...
...Norman Klein, 35. As a cub reporter he covered churches for the Sioux City Tribune, migrated by jumps to the Chicago Daily News. For two years he served that paper as War correspondent on the British front. Next he worked for the Chicago Tribune as "the world's worst copyreader." Manhattan was his goal. He reached it in 1925, frittered away his money on Broadway before looking for a job. When the tabloid Mirror notified him he was hired, he stole an empty milk bottle to raise subway fare to go to work. From the vulgar Mirror Reporter Klein...
...lines carried 86,763 passengers, compared with 66,399 in the first three months of last year. Though flying weather is generally at its worst from January through March, nearly 90% of schedules were flown. Transport officials view the increase as the first fruit of two major policies which came into full play last year: fare reductions and systematic effort to sell through tickets...
...sickly thought of divisionals and finals he turns to dream of the budding green things which on days like this defy the name of the Blue Hills; of dripping paddles moving on a quiet river: of everything which fortunate people have always done in May. He is even that worst of sentimentalists, one who loves a tradition for its own sake, and regrets its passing. New things may be best, but the old are consecrated...