The city room of the Dispatch was just beginning to come to life. Half a dozen reporters, their hats shoved on the backs of their heads, jackets hanging over the backs of their chairs, sat with ears glued to telephones. At other desks, typewriters chattered about the day’s doings for the early City Edition. From the other room, the teletypes added their deeper tones to the clatter with the occasional pinging of a bell.
DispatchJohnny Liddell picked his way down an aisle between desks to a glass door that bore the legend Managing Editor.
Managing EditorA thick, squat man with a shock of untidy gray hair looked up from the room’s only desk as the door slammed shut. His face was tired, deeply lined under the green eyeshade he wore. In his mouth he clamped a short-stemmed bulldog pipe. He no
