Word: clamorings
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Dates: during 1920-1929
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...Africa not yet crowded by tourist-hunters. Taft stayed behind, corpulent, just, constantly annoying his children, the citizens, by his benevolent logic. They had voted for him because the dynamic, hustle-up Roosevelt had told them to. When they found how unRooseveltian Taft was, they were vexed. Their clamor pained and confused him. The late Senator Dolliver described him as a large, amiable island surrounded by people who knew just what they wanted. "Figuratively," as William Allen White says, "he used to come out upon the front stoop of the White House and quarrel petulantly with the American people every...
Money makes noise. There is money in the screams of locomotive brakes, rumble of subways, shrieks of factory whistles, whirr of machinery, cracks of pile drivers, cries of peddlers. There is "big money" in the clamor of exchanges, in the shouts of bidders, the scurrying of page boys, the ringing of telephones, the rattle of tickers. When money is plentiful, easy, the world's marts are thunderous with the din of handling it, transmuting it, losing or winning it. But when money is scarce, tight, there is silence...
...crowd he is immovable, undaunted. And the picture which the millions saw across the gulf which separates a President from his people was the face of an honest man; so they idealized this picture and saw a man who saved their taxes; a man who was immovable amid clamor; a man who defied the mob; a man who beatified plutocracy by glorifying parsimony; a man who defied untoward events by ignoring them-him they saw as a hero and blinked his warts and scars. So in the white light that beats upon a throne the minor vices of a President...
...Austen Chamberlain finally noticed the Labor-Liberal clamor by announcing to the House of Commons that, "in deference to the strongly expressed wish of Captain Delafons himself, His Majesty's Ambassador at Rome has authorized the Italian authorities not to prosecute the assailants, who made a strong plea for mercy...
...lunatic, who committed suicide by jumping in the Tweed river, who left a note asking the Academy to show the last half dozen canvases he had covered (TIME, April 30). Reluctant, the Hanging Committee obeyed. The pictures were silly and terrible; their names had a dark and foolish clamor-My Pain Sheltering Beneath Your Hand, Here Am I. Passing them at last, to look at Sir William Orpen's bitterly melodramatic The Black Cap, or the clever work of 14-year-old Joan Manning Saunders, the smart happy people imitated Premier Baldwin's solemn headshake. "Dreadful . . ." they said...