Every day brings a new story. And each day contributes to story telling -- in prose and in poetry, in art and in music, on the stage, on the screen, and, of course, in books.
Today is the story of Nov. 6th
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It is the 310th day of the year, leaving 55 days remaining in 2022.
Harold let other people tell their stories, but he ensured their prose was crisp and clean and, above all else, readable.
He spent most of his life at the New Yorker, which along with his wife, Jane Grant, he helped found in 1925, and then served as its editor for the next 26 years.
The New Yorker, he said, was for the urbane, sophisticated, well-rounded and socially conscious reader. It was not, as he said in the first issue, for "the little old lady in Dubuque."
He saw the New Yorker as an adjunct to the daily newspapers of the day. His magazine would not deal in sensationalism, but in interpretation. It would seek out the facts and stories that took extra effort. His magazine would be funny and interesting, he said, a dig at his own quotation that "if you can't be funny, be interesting."
As an editor, he insisted on writing that was clear and concise, yet precise. He appreciated wit, but eschewed sexual content. He promoted and enjoyed the single panel cartoons that soon became a trademark of the publication.
He was always on the lookout for good writing, and cared not a whit if the writer was well-known. He was, however, a member of the writers clique known as the Algonquin Round Table, so he knew people who knew people.
He often gave these young, then-unknown writers their first assignments and bylines in his magazine. Among those who wrote for the magazine during his years were J.D. Salinger, Dorothy Parker, E.B. White, and Ogden Nash. Artists included Charles Addams and George Price.
Ross died in 1951 in New York.
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