Sometimes I think that the walls of Santiváñez Street, where The Times worked for many years, are still made of compact typography and that, if you support your ear patiently enough, you can hear the cushioned echo of the flaxtypes devouring the lead. This September 16 The Times turned 83. It is said easy, but it is more than eight decades of cold mornings, fresh ink, endless nights and a city that learned to recognize itself on its pages.
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Sometimes I think that the walls of Santiváñez Street, where The Times worked for many years, are still made of compact typography and that, if you support your ear patiently enough, you can hear the cushioned echo of the flaxtypes devouring the lead. This September 16 The Times turned 83. It is said easy, but it is more than eight decades of cold mornings, fresh ink, endless nights and a city that learned to recognize itself on its pages.