New Haven Independent

Presses Stopped

by Paul Bass | January 22, 2007 11:06 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

He could have walked off the set of a ’40s flick about a New York newsroom. Intense on deadline, crusty on the outside, pure sweetheart on the inside, hot type coursing through his veins, he was a man who saw God in a declarative sentence. (He would have slashed all the clauses in the previous one.) He wrote crime novels on the side, of course. And, yes, he came from New York. As a college student, I had the pleasure of working alongside local sportswriting legend Tom McCormack and getting to know him a bit when I had a job at the Register typing in racing results and “Race with Ace” bookie odds for the weekend editions; like anyone else who had the pleasure, I never forgot him. McCormack died last Friday. Click here to read a tribute from someone who knew him well, sportswriter Dave Solomon. He was Strictly Professional, despite the title he chose for one novel he had published in 1982. P.B.

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