reprimanded or fired, which is what had happened, and would happen, to other transgressors. But Sulzberger never learned of it. Nor did the editor, a large and resolute man namedNeil MacNeil, reveal it to his colleagues. This was possible because during the Thirties MacNeil was a senior editor answerable to few others in the newsroom; he also worked the night shift, arriving in the newsroom at 6 p.m. just as Edwin James was leaving, and James, anxious to get out, was pleased that he had such experienced subordinates as MacNeil to hold the fort through the night.
MacNeil worked in a section of the newsroom known, for no apparent reason, as the “bullpen.” It consisted of three or four desks arranged to form a right angle in the southeast corner of the newsroom, and these desks were occupied by senior editors who read the news as it came in and then determined how much of it would be printed and where it would appear in the paper. Technically the bullpen editors were under the managing editor, but during Edwin James’s era their judgment went unquestioned. It was not until Turner Catledge succeeded James in 1951 and established the daily news conference in the managing editor’s office, on the opposite side of the newsroom, that the bullpen editors lost their exclusivity as receivers and appraisers of news, desk dons
sans reproche
; and when this happened Neil MacNeil, who had been on
The New York Times
for thirty-three years, asked to be retired, and he was.
But during the Thirties the paper was governed at night by the bullpen editors—men who, through the years, had slowly and patiently worked their way up through what was probably the most tedious and unheralded craft in the newsroom. Copyreading. Copyreaders were a special breed of journalists. They were indoor creatures, retainers of rules, anonymous men. Many had come to New York from all over America seeking some greater fulfillment, and when this did not materialize they ended up, through circuitous and often bizarre circumstances, on a copydesk at
The New York Times
. Educated men, well-read travelers, they were ideally suited for the work, though few would admit it. They had not planned on becoming copyreaders.
Nobody
planned on that. And they often spoke of quitting or getting an outside job as a reporter, which a few of them had once been in smaller cities. But most of them remained for years on the copydesk, and secretly they liked the sedentary life, this almost monastic existence of measured words and precise routines and quiet rewards. Here, within the insular atmosphere of
The Times
, they had security and isolation from uncertainty. They spent their nights reading bulletins and editing stories about the world’s latest calamity and chaos, threats and failures, but their only contact with this reality was with the point of a pencil. Theydid not seem to mind working late at night, the most miserable hours in the newspaper business, missing the theater and dinner parties, arriving in the newsroom at a time when most of the staff was preparing to leave, and leaving when the charwomen arrived. The charwomen and the prostitutes in Times Square were usually the only females who crossed their path, but they did not mind this either, seeming perfectly contented within the male circle of deskmen when away from the daytime distractions of wives and children. After work, copyreaders joined other copyreaders for a few drinks in taverns around Times Square or Broadway, savoring a special intimacy about New York at this hour, and mingling with an interesting crowd around the bar, actors and musicians, rogues and hustlers and tipsters, and these people considered it a privilege of sorts to meet
Times
men, and thus the copyreaders felt themselves a part of a rather gamy night scene in New York; but they felt it from a distance. They remained copyreaders, introspective men, careful men, dreamers not doers. Which is not to degrade them. They were more valued on
MacNeil worked in a section of the newsroom known, for no apparent reason, as the “bullpen.” It consisted of three or four desks arranged to form a right angle in the southeast corner of the newsroom, and these desks were occupied by senior editors who read the news as it came in and then determined how much of it would be printed and where it would appear in the paper. Technically the bullpen editors were under the managing editor, but during Edwin James’s era their judgment went unquestioned. It was not until Turner Catledge succeeded James in 1951 and established the daily news conference in the managing editor’s office, on the opposite side of the newsroom, that the bullpen editors lost their exclusivity as receivers and appraisers of news, desk dons
sans reproche
; and when this happened Neil MacNeil, who had been on
The New York Times
for thirty-three years, asked to be retired, and he was.
But during the Thirties the paper was governed at night by the bullpen editors—men who, through the years, had slowly and patiently worked their way up through what was probably the most tedious and unheralded craft in the newsroom. Copyreading. Copyreaders were a special breed of journalists. They were indoor creatures, retainers of rules, anonymous men. Many had come to New York from all over America seeking some greater fulfillment, and when this did not materialize they ended up, through circuitous and often bizarre circumstances, on a copydesk at
The New York Times
. Educated men, well-read travelers, they were ideally suited for the work, though few would admit it. They had not planned on becoming copyreaders.
Nobody
planned on that. And they often spoke of quitting or getting an outside job as a reporter, which a few of them had once been in smaller cities. But most of them remained for years on the copydesk, and secretly they liked the sedentary life, this almost monastic existence of measured words and precise routines and quiet rewards. Here, within the insular atmosphere of
The Times
, they had security and isolation from uncertainty. They spent their nights reading bulletins and editing stories about the world’s latest calamity and chaos, threats and failures, but their only contact with this reality was with the point of a pencil. Theydid not seem to mind working late at night, the most miserable hours in the newspaper business, missing the theater and dinner parties, arriving in the newsroom at a time when most of the staff was preparing to leave, and leaving when the charwomen arrived. The charwomen and the prostitutes in Times Square were usually the only females who crossed their path, but they did not mind this either, seeming perfectly contented within the male circle of deskmen when away from the daytime distractions of wives and children. After work, copyreaders joined other copyreaders for a few drinks in taverns around Times Square or Broadway, savoring a special intimacy about New York at this hour, and mingling with an interesting crowd around the bar, actors and musicians, rogues and hustlers and tipsters, and these people considered it a privilege of sorts to meet
Times
men, and thus the copyreaders felt themselves a part of a rather gamy night scene in New York; but they felt it from a distance. They remained copyreaders, introspective men, careful men, dreamers not doers. Which is not to degrade them. They were more valued on
Similar Books
