Me, Rupe and advertising: a true story!

Years ago, I was working in a menial position at the Boston Herald, toiling in the newsroom at all hours, producing the weather maps and obits for the next day’s editions. One day, the night city editor, who usually only rose from his chair for a quick nap in the TV room, rushed over to me with cab fare and an address. “Mr. Murdoch wants his paper. Now,” he said. I was dispatched with an issue plucked literally hot off the presses (which were housed on site) and told to leave it at the concierge’s desk.