Word: job
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Dates: during 1930-1939
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Talbot G. ("Jimmy") Bowen is a Massachusetts-born ex-doughboy who has knocked around considerably in his 43 years. Before he landed his present job, representing Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer pictures in Montevideo, he used to manage the American Club in Buenos Aires. Visitors from the States knew expansive, bouncy Jimmy well. Last Sunday the whole world got acquainted with Jimmy Bowen's voice...
...harbor last week to bury its dead, patch up, await orders, NBC-RCA's representative there, Bill Clark, signed up his friend Jimmy Bowen to keep watch on her. Jimmy, who had once broadcast a Montevideo opera opening for NBC, found himself with a microphone, headphones, and the job of periodically reporting the comings & goings of the Spec's officers, the feverish activities of her men, the vague rumors that drifted down to the docks...
...pages next day-"The ship is moving now, rolling from side to side. There goes another explosion! The after turret has gone up. . . . She is going down, going down by the stern. . . . Flames are still shooting up into the air. . . . The boys evidently are going to make a good job of it, and leave nothing but the pieces. . . . She is going down still. The bow is under. . . . The only thing showing now is her superstructure, the stack, and part of her control tower...
Absolutely, Jimmy Bowen had done a sweetheart of a reporting job, the first of its sort the world had ever heard. President Roosevelt heard it in his library at Hyde Park. A United Air Lines pilot, flying 11,000 feet over Nebraska, picked it up with his auxiliary receiver, relayed it in bits to his passengers. Jimmy's story reached Timbuctu and Berlin as well, putting the Propaganda Ministry's nose completely out of joint. In Washington, Jimmy's mother heard his voice-for the first time in years...
...Cancer was a dizzying personal record of sexual adventure, straycat poverty and street wanderings in Paris, formless and plotless in any classical sense, savagely anti-artistic. Its end-of-the-rope eloquence was, however, apprentice work compared with Tropic of Capricorn, which deals with Miller's jobholding and job-avoiding life in Manhattan and Brooklyn before he went to Paris. Written in a naked language not of literature but of a man's talking, unquotable except by the page, Tropic of Capricorn would mean plenty to countless men-in-the-street. The "dithyrambic prose" which excited avant-garde...