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Even during their lifetimes, their depiction in the press was at considerable odds with the hardscrabble reality of their life on the road, especially for Bonnie Parker. Jones later testified he could not recall ever having seen her shoot at a law officer.She was present at a hundred or more felonies during the two years she was Barrow's companion, but she was not a machine gun-wielding killer as depicted in the newspapers, newsreels, and pulp detective magazines of that time. Bonnie's reputation as a cigar-smoking gun moll grew out of a playful snapshot police found at an abandoned hideout.
(March 24, 1909 – May 23, 1934) were American criminals who traveled the central United States with their gang during the Great Depression, robbing people and killing when cornered or confronted. Their exploits captured the attention of the American public during the "Public Enemy Era," between 19.Essentially, its message was this: “I hope you like how I think and how I choose my words, but I won’t try to impress you with a color-coded portfolio.” Before going further, I need to clarify for you my relationship with Sorensen. Later, I was the newspaper’s managing editor, so all told, I was his boss for the greater portion of twenty years.As writers and editors will, the two of us have wrangled now and again; for instance, when George Shinn, then owner of Charlotte’s NBA team, was embroiled in a nationally televised civil-court case charging him with sexual assault, Sorensen skewered him in a brilliant column (“Dating Tips”) that I refused to publish because it was as beyond the pale as it was hilarious. Here’s what I mean when I say he is without affectation. In his twenty-eighth year as a sports columnist for the , he has held that position longer than anyone else in the century-plus history of North Carolina’s largest newspaper. Today, he is a prominent part of the sports landscape in the Carolinas.It was released to the press and published nationwide.
While Parker did chain smoke Camel cigarettes, she never smoked cigars.
On the other hand, we’ve watched basketball games together at my house. Unlike many sports columnists, he does not fortify his ego by focusing exclusively on big-time events and celebrity personalities.
Yes, he has covered the Olympics, and he’s on a first-name basis with everybody in the Carolina Panthers’ hierarchy, but he will travel anywhere he believes he will unearth a good story, which gives him a broader range than most columnists; this basketball season you were as likely to spot him at Johnson & Wales’s gym as at a high-profile college game.
It was a feature about an old-fashioned pool hall that had evolved into a neighborhood gathering spot. I recall thinking they had the engaging terseness of classic detective fiction, and I knew after seven or eight paragraphs that Thomas Robert Sorensen—the name on the accompanying résumé—was who we should hire.
No other journalist has chronicled as much of that upheaval as Sorensen, and he has done it in a manner as devoid of pretense and artifice as that untidy package he shipped to me three decades ago. While I was the Observer’s sports editor, I promoted him to columnist in 1985.
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