When I met him at the Times Square offices of The New Yorker, Roger Angell—who’s just published a new book of autobiographical essays, Let Me Finish—seemed slightly out of place, though he’s been showing up for work at the magazine for 50 years. A spry and healthy 85, he may have looked the part, dressed Read More
When I met him at the Times Square offices of The New Yorker, Roger Angell—who’s just published a new book of autobiographical essays, Let Me Finish—seemed slightly out of place, though he’s been showing up for work at the magazine for 50 years. A spry and healthy 85, he may have looked the part, dressed Read More
Officially, there is no such thing as the New Yorker masthead. The New Yorker is so averse to having a masthead that The New Yorker will not even comment about why it chooses not to have a masthead.
As a result, the people who make the magazine have spent generations veiled by the fictitious persona Read More
A Pitcher’s Story: Innings with David Cone , by Roger Angell. Warner Books, 290 pages, $24.95.
Roger Angell’s profile of David Cone started out along one trajectory–a close study of the inner game of pitching–and then veered off along another–the blow-by-blow account of Mr. Cone’s excruciating 2000 season. As such, Mr. Angell has thrown a Read More
