Each morning around 9:30, Roy Allison Roberts, his teeth clenching one of the dozen Corona-Coronas he smokes daily in defiance of his age (72) and his doctor (who allows him six), climbs out of his car before one of the homeliest buildings in Kansas City, Mo. The building quarters the Kansas City Star and its companion paper, the morning Times, and Roy Roberts is the boss. Neither he nor the building looks the part—nor, for that matter, does the Star look much like the usual daily newspaper. Roberts is rumpled and jowly, the very image of a ward politician—a role he...
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