Memento Mori

By the time you hold this paper in your hand, I will have achieved the grim distinction of being exactly the same age New Yorker founder and editor Harold Ross was when he died. Ross, of course, accomplished so much more than I have in my comparable time on this planet. He edited every issue of the magazine from the first until his death—a total of 1,399 weekly issues over 26 years. I’ve edited 65 monthly issues of The Syncopated Times, though it feels like more. Measuring my meager accomplishments against those of such a titan of the blue pencil, I should be ashamed to complain. Harold Wallace Ross, born November 6, 1892, was remarkable in every respect. Largely self-educated, and barnstorming as a reporter all across the country, Ross covered the notorious Leo Frank murder trial in Atlanta. When the recent flap over possibly discontinuing the US Armed Forces newspaper Stars and Stripes was discussed, I was chagrined not to hear any of the ostensible journalists mention how Ross, as an Army private, had been perhaps its greatest editor. Ross was recommended by his superior, Major Mark Watson, to receive the Distinguished Service Medal, stating that his work stood out so conspicuously as to entitle him to special mention. Since the DSM was rarely awarded to personnel below the rank of colonel,