“Yeah.” And: “I’ve always thought of the paper as being a big nineteenth-century novel about New York.”
So does he want to retire as editor of the New York Observer ? He’s 52.
“Yeah. The weekly paper is still the thing I love doing. I am,” he says with a smile, about to compare himself to the shambling, lovable, romantic hero of a small 1934 novel about England, “the Jewish Mr. Chips. It’s my life’s work.”