The First Light of Tomorrow
The accident happened at 4:17 in the afternoon, on a Tuesday in November, when the press was running and the city was already thinking about dinner. James Sullivan was sitting at his desk in the Pittsburgh Gazette's proofreading room, a glass of cold coffee within reach and a stack of galley proofs three inches thick. He was twenty-eight years old, an Irish-American son of steelworkers and...
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