I've often been kidded by acquaintances who couldn't fathom how I brought a set of shaky investigative skills to the Fourth Estate and somehow remained in that arena for two decades.

One wag told me that if I was at the Watergate Hotel in June of 1972, I would probably have asked one of the burglars if he needed a hand with the door. Another pictured me  waving to the mysterious figure leaning out the window of the Texas School Book Depository.

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