Word: guardsmen
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Dates: during 1930-1939
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...regard to your article, "Student Guardsmen Get Quick Promotions Now," I would like to make a few remarks...
...politico, impersonal Author Green tells almost nothing. The one anecdote in his 194 pages of record and analysis concerns John D. Rockefeller Jr. (see col. 2) and the ill-famed Ludlow "massacre" at a Rockefeller coal mine in Colorado, where eleven children and two women suffocated when National Guardsmen burned a strikers' camp. Mr. Green was dedicating a monument to the Ludlow martyrs of 1914 when a closed car drew...
...drab battle costumes cut like mechanics' overalls. They wear rubber boots. Their food comes up in thermos boxes. Their quarters are provided with elaborate drainage systems. Where bullets and bully-beef were their essentials last time, now they depend essentially on petrol and motors. Where being decorative was Guardsmen's principal peacetime duty, being efficient and ready if not actually deadly was their present concern...
...called Assistant Secretary Herbert Gaston: to coordinate the activities of Treasury's 10,578 Coast Guardsmen, 750 Customs agents, 250 Secret Service men, 250 income-tax inspectors, 1,250 alcohol inspectors. Tall, worn Mr. Gaston is an ex-newspaperman who lost out at 50 (when the old New York World expired), came back as Henry Morgenthau's trusted man Friday. Because he clamped down on departmental publicity in 1933, he rates as a stuffed shirt in the ribald, nude-daubed Treasury press room. But columnists and other "think piece" composers who value the long view applaud his emergence...
Then the picket boat showed up. Marksman Peskin, his trigger-finger tensed, his eyes seeking the quarry, scrambled up the liner's Jacob's ladder, followed by the two guardsmen. By this time the lion, bored and weary, had curled up behind a divan, was peacefully snoozing. It was not the moment for the niceties of hunting etiquette. Marksman Peskin was taking aim, when the Amazone's Captain Nyhoff nervously reminded him that a luckless shot in the gunpowder magazine might blast them all to kingdom-come. Swallowing his professional pride, Marksman Peskin inched closer, then fired...