Meanwhile

My apprenticeship, meanwhile, proceeds at its own pace, as most people’s do. Meaning, yes, there are a handful of people who strategically map out their careers, either with or without guidance; I think I’ve known two, maybe three. For most people it’s more like that title of Gay Talese’s first book, a ``serendipiter’s journey.’’

My base is the daily Bond Buyer. I have a ring-side seat to Wall Street, and that’s an interesting thing, and I get steady raises. And then I am named assistant managing editor, and then I get a column, subject unspecified, frequency same. I also get to hire a lot of my friends, which appeals to the essential ward-boss in my soul.

I am also freelancing for National Review and The American Spectator, chiefly book reviews of historical subjects or baseball or journalism, and eventually book reviews to the Wall Street Journal and the odd travel piece or two to The New York Times. What really makes the difference, at least to me, is the Great American Saloon Series.

This is an occasional feature in the American Spectator, and is probably the first thing in the magazine to grab my attention. Reporters go to their favorite bars and write about them. I see I write my first contribution in May of 1980, about a local dive bar, Frenchy’s Bar & Grill, in Roselle Park, New Jersey. I remember writing this up on my father’s old Royal typewriter, and, really, the words couldn’t come fast enough. I’m not even sure I asked the editors if they’d like such a piece. I just typed it up and mailed it in, which is what you did in those days.

It’s hard to say what saloon series articles were like. They were sort of, as Tom would have it, a garage sale. I think what especially appeals to me about the saloon series is that I can make it autobiographical, and what I like about this is that I can channel another of my literary heroes, radio talker Jean Shepherd. Writing a saloon piece, for me, is almost like Shep delivering a monologue, and I can toss in lots of quotes and anecdotes and stray observations that have almost nothing to do with the actual place under discussion.

These are my first real successes as a writer, and in not too long a time, in recognition of my production, I am named Chief Saloon Correspondent. I forget precisely which one Tom sees and tells me: ``You’re a very funny writer,’’ but I have probably never been so pleased with a compliment.

Tom reads both NR and the Spectator, and after I am named a columnist at the newspaper, I make sure to send along some of the work I do there.

And every once a while, I’ll get a note. ``I greatly enjoyed your SALOONS piece in THE SPECTATOR. I’d say you’re really coming into your own! Why don’t you give HARPER’S a shot, too? ‘’

And later: ``Your columns are terrific! You’ve really developed a marvelously vigorous and crisp style.’’

And then all of a sudden, or so it seems, I find myself in contention to be the editor-in-chief of the newspaper.

This occurs gradually, and then suddenly. The company that owns the Bond Buyer and the American Banker, among other publications, wants to launch a new weekly, called Bond World. My boss takes the job, and pretty soon after that, I am named managing editor of the daily. In theory, I am a heartbeat away from the Big Job.

It happens just like that. I’m not even sure I even have to apply for the job. I’m just offered it. And of course I take it. Because you never say no to more money, and more power and authority, and I really think that – actually, I don’t know what to think. I’m too busy getting the daily out. This is just a Very Nice Turn of Events, and I really don’t think of it beyond that. There is no strategizing, no calculation on my part, no office politics. I just work hard. The only guiding principle I have is that my role is to make my boss’s life easier.

And then one day heading into our centennial year, 1991, John Allan tells me that they’re going to be looking for a new editor, and he will become editor emeritus and a columnist, and that I am certainly welcome to apply, and am I interested?

And this has never really occurred to me. John is, I think, 60, and a particularly hale and hearty 60, at that, and for some reason I think of him as editor-for-life. Nor am I dismayed by the prospect. Why change? But that’s not how it works, of course. Editors who live out their days in serene splendor, confident in their job security, are the exceptions to the rule. In Tom’s own case, Harold Hayes runs Esquire for a decade and is squeezed out before he turns 50. Clay Felker creates New York and loses it when he is just over 50. My fascination with such statistics will become apparent.

But: Am I interested? I’ll say I am. I’ve been there for a decade, after all, and have been a reporter, copy editor, assistant managing editor, and now managing editor. By this time, I’m actually a little put out that they would even consider some outsider for the role. If not me, who?

At the same time, I don’t allow myself to get too excited by the prospect. I am too busy. I have a daily to get out, a newswire to feed, a weekly to set up, and 100 years of bound volumes of the newspaper to get through to plan for the special Centennial edition. This new editor will be named at the end of the centennial year.

I deserve the job. I earned it.

Tom attends my coronation, which is held at Harry’s.