Word: yorkers
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Dates: during 1940-1949
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...Sister Eileen (by Joseph Fields & Jerome Chodorov, produced by Max Gordon). Several years ago The New Yorker ran some wry, funny sketches by Ruth McKenney describing the screwy plight of herself and her sister Eileen on first moving into Greenwich Village. Last week Eileen McKenney and her husband, Novelist Nathaniel West (Miss Lonely hearts, The Day of the Locust}, were killed in an auto accident while returning to California from a Mexican hunting trip. And last week sister Ruth's sketches were the basis of a new Broadway comedy hit, directed by George S. Kaufman...
Abandoning his 33rd floor aerie (in Manhattan's New Yorker Hotel) as well as his customary winter costume of long underwear, red golf socks and high-laced shoes, genial, ghostly, 84-year-old Hermit-Inventor Nikola Tesla (Tesla induction motor, Tesla pump, Tesla transformer, some 700 other patents) indulged an old enthusiasm for prize fighters, went down to dine with a fellow Croat, Welterweight Champion Fritzie Zivic...
...FEELS always a pardonable reluctance to agree with a publisher's blurb; but it is impossible to deny the truth of the dust jacket's statement that the New Yorker publishes the best prose fiction in America and that a splendid sampling of that fiction has been brought together to make this book. A warning, at this point: the New Yorker's prose style, a unique melancholy compounded out of many samples over a period of not quite sixteen years, is not very much in evidence in this collection. The witty, nostalgic, acid manner of the "Talk of the Town...
Married. Harold Wallace Ross, 48, editor of The New Yorker; and Arianne Allen, 25, blonde model, of Beverly Hills, Calif.; she for the first time, he for the third; at Roselle Park...
...shirt-sleeved men are loafing. In the third floor recreation room a dozen firefighters play penny ante, some of the more energetic shoot pool, and a few others watch traffic along Cambridge Street. Down the hall in a library-common room another group smokes, reads Esquire and the New Yorker, occasionally studies. Off the kitchen, where a stoutish chap is raiding the refrigerator, the Bonfire Band struggles through "Smoke Gets in Your Eyes" in preparation for the policeman-fireman ball. And the impression that a firefighter's nine and one-half hour daily stint cannot be classified as labor...