I had just graduated from Glasgow University and most of my friends were shooting for megabucks with banks or chemical companies. After an interview doon by the Broomielaw, not far from Dirty Dick's bar, Bill gave me a job on the Sunday Post as a cub reporter. I was 21 years old and happy as Larry. I didn't understand money. I knew, as Bill did, that words would be our only currency – for the rest of our lives, as it turned out.
Memories of happy days
Almost four and a half decades ago, Bill Anderson gave me my first job (Obituaries, The Herald, February 10).
I had just graduated from Glasgow University and most of my friends were shooting for megabucks with banks or chemical companies. After an interview doon by the Broomielaw, not far from Dirty Dick's bar, Bill gave me a job on the Sunday Post as a cub reporter. I was 21 years old and happy as Larry. I didn't understand money. I knew, as Bill did, that words would be our only currency – for the rest of our lives, as it turned out.
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Don't show me this again.