Golden Flits and Dusty Roses

I have a suspicion that you have to have at least some Irish blood to take time out of life to write "Life's Golden Flits and Dusty Roses." You might have to have the same heritage to read it. That's an awful admission from someone selling a book; however, if I've succeeded in doing anything in my love affair with the printed word it's to tell the truth. The Irish seem to enjoy the adventure getting to the goal more than reaching it. So, perhaps you'll take pity on me, and help pay for the cost of print by actually buying a copy.

God gave me many advantages in writing this work. Being one of nine brothers who survived infancy, true poverty, an aunt who raised me only a short distance from the rest of the family, a life-threatening illness, an unyielding faith, the joys and threats of growing up in Brooklyn in the 1930s and 40s, and walking into the New York Times and New York Herald Tribune without once thinking I didn't have the academic or experience qualifications. Amazing!

Life's flits between the covers of this book were not some mindless meanderings, but usually full of purpose -- not for acquiring money but for experience and maturity. One of the merits of newspapering, at least in my day, was that you could work on just a few newspapers and do many things as a reporter and an editor.