To the Editors of the Carsom:
In the week since the death of A. J. Liebling, I have been thinking, as I suppose many of you have, of a speech Mr. Liehling gave at the Crimson's ninetieth anniversary dinner last January. Mr. Liehling was a man who was honest enough never to have much small talk, and he was a man who was enough never to enjoy speaking to a group that was much larger than could be made do fit around a good-sired dinner table. He was also, even last January, not in the best of health, but he alosys loved the working press and even seemed to feel kindly toward the undergraduate press. At any rate, he allowed himself to be persuaded to accept our invitation to speak at the dinner, he warned us beforehand that he probably wouldn't find too much to say. His speech was, of course, a corkes; He the newspaper publishers (the New York strike was still on at that time). He biasphoemed about academiciana, and he got in a few good cracks at the Widenors. We loved every misute of it. All of us week home infesting pretty backed up about being assoiciated with the newspaper business, oven if only in a marginal way. That feeling didn't long outlast the next time the CRIMSON tried to get itself to bed, but it will be hard to forget another feeling we also book away that night--that we had bees to a was who was taking time off trees its work had risking his own health fast to war our hearts. Anthony Hies
His speech was, of course, a corkes; He the newspaper publishers (the New York strike was still on at that time). He biasphoemed about academiciana, and he got in a few good cracks at the Widenors. We loved every misute of it. All of us week home infesting pretty backed up about being assoiciated with the newspaper business, oven if only in a marginal way. That feeling didn't long outlast the next time the CRIMSON tried to get itself to bed, but it will be hard to forget another feeling we also book away that night--that we had bees to a was who was taking time off trees its work had risking his own health fast to war our hearts. Anthony Hies
