Word: coking
(lookup in dictionary)
(lookup stats)
Dates: all
Sort By: most recent first
(reverse)
...would find hard to dislodge. Among its activities: a bookshop, bank, import-export bureau, bus company, electrical-appliance outlets, a fuel-supply firm, a department store, a shipping line, the control of nearly all fisheries, as well as plans to sell everything from shoes to paint to coke...
...clean over the heads of many, perhaps most Frenchmen. The Paris of the emergency Cabinet meetings was also the Paris of the big fashion shows, memorable chiefly for such dramatic developments as the ingenious way Couturier Guy Laroche managed to combine "the popular princess line" with silhouettes resembling a Coke bottle or a bowling pin. In the Paris area's famed "Red belt," Communist-organized workers, whatever their politics, placidly continued to assemble Simcas and Renaults. All France was united...
...fish bellied up and died; riverfront Manhattan Beach, near Bellevue, Ky., was covered with a foul slime; Louisville's water system doused river water so heavily with chemicals that the citizens howled; on its best days, the river gave off the medicinal odor of phenol poured out of coke ovens. For decades the river cities and towns complained to each other about the mess coming from upstream, contributed to the mess downstream. Then a determined Cincinnati pressagent, rushing in where poets refused to paddle, launched a 25-year cleanup drive that is only now beginning to restore the Ohio...
...operates by word of mouth. In others red tape is so thick that the head of a subdepartment must clear everything he does with his department chief. Martin's men at Cape Canaveral are as good as any. Yet they complain of silly rules that forbid coffee or Coke breaks (one Denver scientist was recently dismissed for drinking Coke from a Thermos at his desk). Ten topnotch engineers of Martin's missile-test group recently went looking for new jobs as a group because, as one engineer said, "I'd like to work in a happy shop...
...Sand. To visitors last week, the foundry was still the place of weird shapes and leaping shadow that Duchamp-Villon and Brancusi knew well. In one room, sweet-smelling brown wax boiled on a rosy, potbellied stove. In the 100-ft.-long casting shed, coke fires hissed under fat crucibles shaped like medieval cannons, and overhead hoists trundled swaddled casts to their firing-pits. In a finishing room, a workman lay in the arms of a large bronze nude, reverently polishing her nose. In another corner, Marc Chagall supervised the application of a patina to his latest piece. Mustache quivering...