From iconic American humorist James Thurber, a celebrated and poignant memoir about his years at The New Yorker with the magazine’s unforgettable founder and longtime editor, Harold Ross “Extremely entertaining. . . . life at The New Yorker emerges as a lovely sort of pageant of lunacy, of practical jokes, of feuds and foibles. It is an affectionate picture of scamps playing their games around a man who, for all his brusqueness, loved them, took care of them, pampered and scolded them like an irascible mother hen.” —New York Times With a foreword by Adam Gopnik and illustrations by James Thurber At the helm of America’s most influential literary magazine from 1925 to 1951, Harold Ross introduced the country to a host of exciting talent, including Robert Benchley, Alexander Woollcott, Ogden Nash, Peter Arno, Charles Addams, and Dorothy Parker. But no one could have written about this irascible, eccentric genius more affectionately or more critically than James Thurber, whose portrait of Ross captures not only a complex literary giant but a historic friendship and a glorious era as well. "If you get Ross down on paper," warned Wolcott Gibbs to Thurber," nobody will ever believe it." But readers of this unforgettable memoir will find that they do. Offering a peek into the lives of two American literary giants and the New York literary scene at its heyday, The Years with Ross is a true classic, and a testament to the enduring influence of their genius.  "A many prismed view of the man, his time, his editorship, his writers and staff, and the growth of a provincial sheet into an internationally accepted American weekly. . . . An affirmation of a love for a man, as well as his profession, this accords full tribute, to one whom many will "never forget as long as I live", with mind as well as heart."  - Kirkus Reviews "Superb. . . . [a] revealing portrait of Harold Wallace Ross, the unbelievable founder and editor of The New Yorker ." - New York Herald Tribune "[An] extremely entertaining memoir. . . . life at The New Yorker emerges as a lovely sort of pageant of lunacy, of practical jokes, of feuds and foibles. It is an affectionate picture of scamps playing their games around a man who, for all his brusqueness, loved them, took care of them, pampered and scolded them like an irascible mother hen." - New York Times "It is Thurber's book  The Years with Ross  that every journalist should have. It chronicles the restless genius and sometimes frustrating ways of legendary  New Yorker  editor Harold Ross, who brought together an extraordinary cavalcade of talent (including Thurber) but somehow managed to keep his cast of divas productive. . . . Most of all, the book captures the fun of inventing the perfect magazine during journalism's heyday." - NPR "Endlessly entertaining." - Chicago Tribune "A perfectly wonderful reminiscence about one of the most intriguing personalities in the literary world by one of the best writers of our time."  - Los Angeles Times At the helm of America's most influential literary magazine for more than half a century, Harold Ross introduced the country to a host of exciting talent, including Robert Benchley, Alexander Woolcott, Ogden Nash, Peter Arno, Charles Addams, and Dorothy Parker.  But no one could have written about this irascible, eccentric genius more affectionately or more critically than James Thurber -- an American icon in his own right -- whose portrait of Ross captures not only a complex literary giant but a historic friendship and a glorious era as well.  "If you get Ross down on paper," warned Wolcott Gibbs to Thurber," nobody will ever believe it."  But readers of this unforgettable memoir will find that they do. James Thurber was born in Columbus, Ohio, in 1894. Famous for his humorous writings and illustrations, he was a staff member of The New Yorker for more than thirty years. He died in 1961. The Years with Ross By Thurber, James Perennial Copyright © 2004 James Thurber All right reserved. ISBN: 0060959711 A Dime a Dozen Harold Ross died December 6, 1951, exactly one month after his fifty-ninth birthday. In November of the following year the New Yorker entertained the editors of Punch and some of its outstanding artists and writers. I was in Bermuda and missed the party, but weeks later met Rowland Emett for lunch at the Algonquin. "I'm sorry you didn't get to meet Ross," I began as we sat down. "Oh, but I did," he said. "He was all over the place, Nobody talked about anybody else." Ross is still all over the place for many of us, vitally stalking the corridors of our lives, disturbed and disturbing, fretting, stimulating, more evident in death than the living presence of ordinary men. A photograph of him, full face, almost alive with a sense of contained restlessness, hangs on a wall outside his old office. I am sure he had just said to the photographer, "I haven't got time for this." That's what he said,