It was a supercilious, Oscar Wilde face, with a nose that richly deserved tweaking. It adorned a new publication called The New Yorker, and the smart money said of face and magazine, as Dorothy Parker had once said of a pair of amorous gorillas: "I give them six months."
Half a century later, the smart money has vanished into depressed stocks and inflated currency. And The New Yorker has survivedno, flourished. The upstart has become an establishment, the iconoclast an institution. In his anniversary thesaurus of anecdotes, Here at The New Yorker (TIME, Feb....
To continue reading:
or
Log-In
