Sidebar. The Pentagon Papers

• Author: Kenneth P. Nolan
• Pages: 60-63

Sidebar

Published in Litigation, Volume 47, Number 2, Winter 2021. © 2021 by the American Bar Association. Reproduced with permission. All rights reserved. This information or any portion thereof may not be

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KENNETH P. NOLAN

The author, a senior editor of Litigation and the author of A Streetwise Guide to Litigation (ABA 2013),

is counsel to Speiser Krause, Rye Brook, New York.

I needed money. So, when my brother

mentioned that the New York Times need-

ed a copyboy on weekends, I immediate-

ly applied. I had no idea what a copyboy

was—and really didn’t care since I had

just started my second year of college and

was desperate for cash. My parents were

wonderful, actually, but never had an ex-

tra nickel. At Christmas, when everyone’s

mom would ooh and ahh at the elaborate

lights and decorations, mine would icily

proclaim: “I’m glad I’m not paying their

electric bill.”

At the Times building on West 43rd

Street, I was interviewed by Miss Moody, a

white-haired, courtly woman who ran the

editorial department on the sedate 10th

floor. I could only guess at her questions

since she spoke slowly, softly, and with a

Southern accent, all unknown in my world

of loud, fast Brooklynese. I tried to wait

for her question to end, but it took forever,

and my mind wandered as this was the

first I had ever spoken to someone with

an accent.

I was elated when Miss Moody called

to ask if I could start that Saturday, where

I met George, a weekday copyboy, who

gave me a cursory explanation of my du-

ties to the 12 white guys—no women or

minorities, one Catholic—who wrote the

influential editorials that shaped world

opinion. A go-fer, I delivered mail and

carried typewritten editorials from one

editor to another, and then to the compos-

ing room. This was 1968, a world of lead

type inserted by hand into metal frames, of

pneumatic tubes through which copy was

sent from the Ivy League–educated men

who wrote the editorials to the blue-collar

mugs who turned those words into lead

type on machines that looked like they

were straight out of the Guttenberg era.

On Saturday, we scurried about until

we stood on the 4th floor—the cavernous

and noisy composing room—with the

editor and makeup editor while the edito-

rials, letters, and columns were assembled

by the printer. Don’t mess with these guys,

George warned, pointing to the union

printers. If you break one of their million

rules, they’ll walk off the job (which they

did in 1962 and 1965). Proofs were printed

and the editors read and reread the pages,

searching for typos, errors in grammar or

style, with an eye on the news to ensure

that an editorial didn’t have to be updated.

After all, this was the New York Times,

the most influential newspaper in the

world, read by every dictator, president,

and business tycoon from Bangkok to

Buenos Aires. All worked frantically, des-

perate to make the deadline so the 1.5 mil-

lion copies of the Sunday paper could be

printed and delivered to the far reaches of

the globe. I would like to report that I im-

mediately realized the written word’s val-

ue and power, but I was young and foolish,

and everyone I knew read only the tabloids.

It was months before I began to appreciate

the best education I ever received.

A Working Educ ation

Each weekend at the Times, I was exposed

to editorial writers who read Pravda in

Russian or told me of their lunch with

this prime minister or that governor.

Occasionally, I hand-delivered galleys of

editorials to John B. Oakes, the personable

and powerful editor of the editorial page,

at his Fifth Avenue apartment overlooking

Central Park. There a white-gloved door-

man escorted me to his door, which was

opened by a maid in a spotless, starched

uniform. A tad different from the crowded,

ragged walk-ups that filled my neighbor-

hood, and the only mention of “maid” was

when my mother would snarl: “Pick up

your dirty clothes. I’m not your maid.”

Gradually, I realized the extent of my

social and educational ignorance. I began

to read the editorials, columns, and news

stories along with papers from London

and Washington. Occasionally, I was asked

by Mr. Oakes, a Rhodes scholar, to read

THE PENTAGON PAPERS