In 1980 The Cincinnati Enquirer took a chance on a lapsed graduate student with a few summers on a rural weekly newspaper in Kentucky in his past and gave me a seat on the copy desk.
I became head of the copy desk, and my masters indulged me in a zany whim to bring in the smartest people I could find.
Like all editors, I have in my head a score of errors and oversights, and I run down that list as I lie awake on still winter nights.
I had the satisfaction of working side by side with scores of reporters, photographers, and editors who took journalism seriously.
You who have read these posts over the past fifteen years have seen nearly everything I know about writing, editing, and language—more than once.