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...their difficulties. Unanimously they agreed that the steady increase of foreign competition and the steady decrease of foreign and domestic markets for raw cotton and cotton goods spelled approaching ruin for both planters and millers. Unanimously they blamed most of their troubles on AAA's 4.2? a Ib. processing tax. And unanimously they set off for the White House to get a political pre-scription for King Cotton...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: National Affairs: Handclasps Over Cotton | 4/22/1935 | See Source »

...world market, but the stiffest competitor is Brazil. Grown on abandoned coffee plantation acreage and tended by cheap Indian labor, 448,000 bales of cotton were produced by Brazil in 1932-33. This year's output is estimated at 1,591,000 bales. Price: 4½? a Ib...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: National Affairs: Handclasps Over Cotton | 4/22/1935 | See Source »

...door to door, ask each New York housewife her origin, nationality, family income, number in family, number of children, number of servants, number of boarders; whether she had bought any poultry in the past seven days; if so, what day, what kind of fowl, what weight, what cost per Ib.; was it slaughtered in New York; was it plucked? He was also supposed to gather data on eggs, but Michael Weintraub said sadly that the door was usually slammed in his face before he got well started on the fowl. He did not know what happened to the little information...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: RELIEF: Boondoggles | 4/15/1935 | See Source »

...Scandals, experts estimate that Dancer Powell covers four miles in the course of her routine. She has brown hair, blue eyes, weighs 117 Ib. Her next picture: Broadway Melody...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: The New Pictures: Apr. 8, 1935 | 4/8/1935 | See Source »

...pull out of a 10,000-ft. dive hard enough to push the g (gravity) reading up to nine, and pull me down into my seat with a force equal to nine times my own weight, or 1,350 Ib. . . . I took off and went up to 15,000 ft. and stuck her down to 300 m.p.h. I horsed back on the stick and watched the accelerometer. Up she went, and down into my seat I went. Centrifugal force, like some huge invisible monster, pushed my head down into my shoulders and squashed me into that seat so that...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Transport: Damn .Fool's Job | 4/1/1935 | See Source »

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