Word: yorkerism
(lookup in dictionary)
(lookup stats)
Dates: all
Sort By: most recent first
(reverse)
Peter Arno, caricaturist (covers for the New Yorker), has a small daughter, Patricia. Last week she was vaccinated on the sole of her foot. Reason given by her mother, Lois Long ("Lipstick") Arno: ''Even if she becomes a second Lady Godiva, no one will think of finding a vaccination scar there...
...Overseers, Trustees and the heads of Lee Higginson (perhaps a redundant grouping) hotly denied that there was any truth in the story at all. Boston correspondents would be quite justified in asking Harvard authorities either to make up their minds or withdraw from such vulgar activities as publicity. New Yorker...
...Little Show. Like an animated issue of such smart charts as Vanity Fair and The New Yorker is this revue, gathered by clever Manhattanites from the fancies, satires, slap-sticks of their native city. Merry, squint-eyed Fred Allen, whose voice sounds as though it ran over a ratchet, is chief wisecracker. Elongated Clifton Webb does a variety of turns, from elegant ballroom maneuvers to a parody of the John Erskine school of historical fiction. At one point, dressed as a Carthaginian warrior, he keeps languidly remarking: "Oh nuts!" It was in the best interests of mirth to revive George...
Died. James Brander Matthews, 77, famed New Yorker; of influenza; in Manhattan. He was the son of a New Orleans businessman. Educated at Columbia University, he taught there for 32 years, holding the first chair specifically devoted to the drama in any U. S. University. He married English Actress Ada Smith (1873) who died in 1924. He wrote more than 35 books?essays, drama criticism, plays, tales. Great in geniality, he drew about him potent men of his time: William Dean Howells, Mark Twain, Rudyard Kipling, Theodore Roosevelt. The friend of thousands, he once received a book from Mark Twain...
...regular contributor to the New Masses, he was (in the March issue) allowed to lampoon the staff of that earnest, proletarian monthly as a ridiculous, sour and impoverished quartet, weary of life and thought. O. Soglow is a signature frequently seen also in the blithely capitalistic New Yorker. There he is the Harpo Marx of art, maintaining a pungent silence with untitled comic strip exercises in pantomime, often verging on the vulgar. Recently the New Yorker has been repeating, each week, the same Soglow drawing of an open manhole, from which issue voices providing different captions...