‘Twas the Autumn of ’52. The dark shadow of World War Two had passed but a scant seven years earlier. Her Loyal Majesty, Queen Elizabeth II had just ascended the throne. The U.K.’s Top Twenty Record Chart had just begun. The World waited.
At the Ambassadors theatre, a new Agatha Christie play had opened to mixed reviews. Its title – “The Mousetrap”. Down the road, the reality of “This Is Cinerama” was making people sick. The World continued to wait.
A lady named Hazel Blair was plump with child – but he would be named Tony and would only succeed in embarrassing himself by falling in love with a crass Texan named George.
Then suddenly, it happened. To an audience of eager medical students, this chronicler was born. The nurse slapped him once on the bottom and, stopping only to urinate in her eye, the newborn lit a cigar and went in search of a typewriter.
He wrote, “‘Twas the Autumn of ’52. The dark shadow…”