"The last time I was in New York," wrote Stanley Walker to a friend, "I got the idea that, if we except a few aged but loyal pals, nobody gave a hoot about my presence in the city—indeed, that it would help congestion a little if I went away." These words were doubly bitter, for they came from a man who saw himself as a symbol of the excitement and vicarious glamour of newspapering in New York.
A slight, hawk-nosed and caustic immigrant from Texas ranch country, Walker got to the big city for the...
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