Word: slaved
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...taken to the station house. The desk sergeant began the routine of booking him. Name? John Torthi. Birthplace? Lynchburg, Va. Date? June 4, 1824. The desk sergeant looked up astonished. Was this old fellow 107 years old? The Negro nodded his head, explained that he had been a slave nearly 40 years before being freed by the Proclamation of Emancipation (Jan. 1, 1863). He rambled on that he had been married five times, once cooked coffee for General Grant, had 49 grandchildren. At mention of the Civil War he mumbled about "lots of shooting" and "long roads." He broke into...
Thomas Nast was no soldier in the Civil War, but as a cartoonist he threw himself into it with the same gusto he gave every fight. The South was a nation of tobacco-chewing slave whippers. Lincoln was his saint. Grant his personal hero. In 1862 Fletcher Harper hired him for Harper's Weekly at a good salary. From that day Harper's and Nast were an unbeatable team, the most influential artist, the most influential magazine in the country. When they separated in 1886 Harper's lost its circulation, and Nast, though he tried to start a paper...
Contemplation of this social phenomenon was interrupted by the noisy arrival of that obsequious slave of the Capitalist State, the Fire Department. With misdirected enthusiasm they cast a damper upon the whole affair. They not only put out the fire but earnestly insisted that they knew nothing whatever as to the whereabouts of the Lindbergh baby. Both actions had a vastly sobering effect on the crowd. Dispirited, the upper middle classes retreated into its painted towers and the mob retired into the arms of its painted women. The Vagabond went and played a haunting melody on the Lowell House bells...
...lifted up the poor and laid low the rich until at last the fathers at Rome rose up at his impudence and declared him "a public enemy." A mob sought him out in anger and found across the river in the grove of Furrina, Gaius' body lying beside his slave...
Bill Wrigley was no slave to his desk. Once when he was asked to be in his office to sign an important contract, he cried, "The hell with it, the Giants are in town," hurried off to the ball park. He seldom missed a game. For several months of every year he went to Catalina Island, 12 mi. off the coast of California, which he had bought in 1919 for $2,000,000, and of which he had made a profitable business enterprise as well as a playground for himself and family. He owned the Biltmore Hotel at Phoenix...