CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
I arrive at the Reporter around 6:00 PM. There's no one in the place, so the phones are silent. I spend a few minutes sitting in front of my beat-up standard Royal typewriter. I insert a clean sheet of paper and start pounding out my story with two fingers. You can laugh if you want to, but I can write faster with two fingers than any secretary working at this paper can with ten.
At last, I rip the final page of my story out of the carriage, pick up my other sheets of the copy, plus a couple of photographs laying face down on my desk. I head downstairs to the composing room.
Here, in the vast area that contains the presses, I find my old friend Ben Berger wearing, as always, his clean bib overalls and a plaid shirt. I hand him the sheets with my layout and story, alon
