Todd Gitlin

The Washington Post, in grave financial trouble, was bought by a very wealthy man whose biographer called him “an energetic young tycoon.”1 Highly successful as a banker and Wall Street investor, the new publisher had never before worked at a newspaper, let alone owned one, but he had shown a fine head for business and was known to be far-sighted. He had plenty of new money and wanted to do something civic-minded.

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In 1992, the Stasi revealed that Christa Wolf had helped them out. She had no memory of having written a report for them.

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The old regime of broadcast journalism is now passing, or has passed. The average age of a TV network news viewer is over sixty. We are now about two

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A Mere Jonah

Frederick Turner gives us an informative sketch for a bildungsromanabout how Miller re-made himself as a writer, transforming himself from poetaster t

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Actions

In his memoir, Bill Zimmerman contributes his own vivid tableaux to the annals of 1960s action sequences, and makes plain that they were sequences in

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The sports journalist Michael Weinreb, who grew up in State College, Pennsylvania and went to school at Penn State, where his father was a chemistry professor, last week cited an article on the front page of his old college newspaper. In it were recorded the laments of Andrew Hanselman, a senior marketing major at the school. "Being accepted to Penn State felt like a family,” Hanselman said, “and Joe Paterno was the father." It is a sentimental quote, but also a revealing one. It’s important, in fact, to stare hard at the feeling articulated by young Mr.

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The Grand Programme

A book on why to read another book is, you might think, redundant, especially when there are so many predecessors that illuminate Moby-Dick, and by no

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In 1965, when Carl Oglesby threw himself into the New Left—“the movement” was the more intimate term, meaning life-force, energy, motion—he was a 30-year-old paterfamilias with a wife and three small children, living in a nice little Ann Arbor house on (he relished the memory) Sunnyside Street, making a solid living as a technical editor-writer for a military-industrial think-tank called Bendix. He golfed, drove a snappy little sports car, wrote plays, and smoked good dope—a damn fine life for the son of an Akron rubber worker and the grandson of a coal miner.

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Reading Deeply

In a time when reading has devolved into a means for the efficient conveyance of information, and sustained reading is in decline even as the techniqu

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