The legendary magazine designer Roger Black sat in the lounge of his Fifth Avenue studio, rows of leather-bound volumes arrayed on the wall behind him.At first glance, they seemed like compendiums of classic literature, and in a sense they were: bound volumes of publications like Esquire and Rolling Stone , where Mr. Black first built his legend.
As The Observer tapped notes on an iPad, Mr. Black leaned back on a gray sofa and crossed his legs, a bemused expression on his face.
“I got one the first week, but I don’t use it much anymore,” he said of Apple’s tablet.
His voice bore traces of his West Texas upbringing. He wore stylish glasses and a light tan from his recent trip to Austin.“I am flabbergasted by how many people went out and bought an iPad,” he added, “and even more so how the publishing industry thought it was some kind of magic pony that would save them.”