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Dad reported to her about his interview with Clare Boothe Luce. She was, he wrote, "a real bitch," and he "would rather have talked to a tombstone. I was born on September 21, , and my brothers Richard and Robert followed during the years our family lived in New York. My mother had wisely invested several hundred dollars in a show in which she worked.

When Arsenic and Old Lace became a long-running smash hit, the extra income she received helped put the three of us boys through college. Anxious to enhance the income of the federation's members and suspicious of changing technology, Petrillo instituted a series of recording bans and other devices to pressure record companies for greater royalties for working musicians. Petrillo was wary of most reporters who covered him. Dad became the notable exception. Fearful of germs because one of his sons had died of an infection, Petrillo appreciated that my father understood and respected his concerns about hygiene.

The union leader came to trust and confide in my father. As a result, the Times broke numerous exclusives about the AFM and its president. In Dad was subpoenaed to testify in federal court about whether Petrillo had declared in public that he would disobey the Lea Law that Congress had enacted to control his activities.

My father's coverage of Petrillo facilitated his transfer to the radio department of the Times in the early years of the war. Although Dad was draft age during World War II, he was classified as 4-F because of tuberculosis in one eye and chronic stomach ulcers. Then as later, his diet was a mixture of coffee, cigarettes, and sandwiches, and his health fluctuated between fair and poor.

He and my mother rode around New York City on his motorcycle in what must have then seemed a Bohemian lifestyle. They often sent me at the age of two or three across the street to bring them back cigarettes from the neighborhood store. Occasionally, I would receive a lemon ice as a reward. My father's dedication to his job continued long after he left the city room of the Times. In his third floor study, he installed his radio equipment and spent countless hours monitoring shortwave broadcasts. Grafton called Italian monarch Victor Emmanuel, who was replacing Benito Mussolini, "the moronic little king.

In September his life took a sudden turn. The radio critic of the Times, John K. Hutchens, announced "that he could not take another year of listening to Jack Benny. After a few weeks in limbo, my father asked managing editor Edwin L. James whether he was "going to run the damn thing or did he have someone else to put in? Within a month, Dad's readers got a preview of television that was to come after the war ended. In October he reviewed a presentation of The Boys from Boise, a musical comedy that he deemed "a valuable and important step toward television's own self-sufficiency.

Dad covered the successful attempt of the U. Army in January to bounce a radio signal off the moon, a forerunner of space developments that followed during the s. By my mother and father had concluded, as their family grew to three sons, that the house on McDougall Street was no longer big enough. With overcrowding of schools in Manhattan on the horizon, they made the move to suburbia that so many others would make during the next decade.

They bought a house in Stamford, Connecticut, on five acres of land that had furnished topsoil for the Merritt Parkway during the late s. Backing up on the Mianus River, the place had a huge pond that iced up enough in the winter for skating. Along the pond's steep banks, blackberries and blueberries grew wild in abundance. It was a great home for three young boys.

For my mother, the move to Connecticut was not something that served her interests. From an active theater career, she became a housewife isolated in the "back country" of Stamford with young offspring to transport to schools, appointments, and recreation. She later said that she had been "trapped in a men's locker room for twenty-five years. My father set up his reviewing office in the rear part of the house, and from there he followed the new programs that early television produced.

Not content with just reviewing, he spent four or five days at the office chasing stories, interviewing television insiders, and working his confidential sources. Most weekdays he took the Merritt Parkway into New York and reached Times Square by a circuitous route that combined speed and complexity. While others rested on weekends, he went into New York on Saturday mornings for breakfasts with Frank Stanton of the Columbia Broadcasting System, a personal relationship that often resulted in exclusive stories.

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Within five years, as the baby boom exploded in the Stamford school system and double sessions loomed for children there, my parents moved once again to neighboring Old Greenwich. They purchased a three-story house on Long Island Sound that had served as the residence for servants on an adjoining estate. The twelve-room house had enough room for three boys and ample space for my father to work. There Dad adopted the routine as a critic that he followed for the rest of his career. He believed that it was essential to watch programs as they occurred at home, just as other viewers were doing.

On the third floor of his new residence, he had a rambling office overlooking the Sound, and he furnished the room with three television sets, his radio receivers, a comfortable bed and his well-worn typewriter. On many evenings he wrote under a tight deadline of or P. That meant for a program ending at 11, he had less than a half-hour to prepare a to word review. We could watch the program with him but could not say anything while the show was in progress.

Once it came time to write, we all left the room and the typewriter began its rhythmic chatter. When all went well, he would have the review ready and be dictating to the copy desk in New York around He took some notes as he watched, used background material sent to him in advance, and no doubt wrote parts of the reviews in his head. Some nights the words came slowly and the tension was thick in the room. Years of practice and routine usually produced a quality appraisal in the available time. The other primary responsibility was his regular column for the Sunday Times.

That became known to all of us as the dreaded "Sunday piece," a longer essay that either reviewed at greater length some show of the preceding week or explored a larger issue facing the medium. Because of the Sunday paper's deadlines, this assignment had to be done by Tuesday. Thus my father often had only a hectic two-day period at the beginning of the week to produce his Sunday remarks.

In these extended discussions of television and its future, Dad had a kind of personal editorial page on which he could offer prescriptions for ways to improve video. He did not write a sermon each week lest he become dull and strident. When an issue such as blacklisting of alleged Communists arose or the quiz shows scandals occurred, he used his pulpit effectively.

In that forum he took up even larger issues about television than those he addressed on Sunday. Faced with the potential college expenses for three sons, in the s he wrote a children's book, All About Radio and Television, which explained the technicalities of electronics in simple and clear language.

The "foxhole" radio he taught us to build was a key feature of the text. The book sold several hundred thousand copies and was translated into numerous languages. As a critic of television, my father followed a general philosophy of his role over the course of his career. He never spent much time reading what his colleagues in the critical craft said about their profession. Instead, he hammered out principles and guidelines for himself as television evolved. From the outset, he never exaggerated his own influence over the medium and its performers. But he also understood that he could not guide public taste or change the verdict of the ratings for shows he liked but viewers did not.

My father recognized that his influence as a critic rested on his connection with The New York Times. Particularly during the s and early s, New York City was the center of television production and Hollywood remained, in the words of John Gunther in , "a suburb of the Bronx. As a result, Dad and his main competitor, John Crosby of the Tribune, had a significant influence on what the leaders of television thought and did. As an industry journal put it in , "Even though the network brass are aware that their Nielsens are not likely to fluctuate a bit because of a critic's opinion, they wait breathlessly for The Word from the men who write the reviews.

My father had an unparalleled platform from which to offer his opinions about television. Yet that opportunity could vanish quickly if he were not judicious, balanced, and objective. The Times management gave him a good deal of latitude for his evaluations, but his work received constant scrutiny from editors and the newspaper's publisher. When he evaluated an individual show, my father began from the assumption that "a medium which daily pre-empts the attention of millions of adults and children surely cannot be ignored.

As he summarized it, this indictment contended that "the cultural conceit of the television critic is unparalleled in its fundamental arrogance. When he watched an individual program, my father sought first "to understand what the program is trying to accomplish, then I try to analyze whether it has succeeded in its aim. If a show such as Omnibus or an operatic presentation fell short of excellence, he believed it was his responsibility to say so, even though he had hoped that the program would be an artistic success.

Dad's aesthetic preferences grew out of his experience covering nightclubs and theaters in the s. He favored the spontaneity of live television over film and later videotape. His musical tastes ran to the Broadway shows and swing-era sounds of his reporting days. Family lore had it that he predicted after seeing a performance of Oklahoma in that it would flop. Yet he also watched with rapt attention the classical performances of Arturo Toscanini and Leonard Bernstein.

He had no patience with modern jazz or with rock and roll. His most famous and oft-quoted judgment in the popular music field occurred in when he wrote that Elvis Presley had "no discernible singing ability. While my father's critics in the television industry charged that he came at programs from an elitist and high-brow perspective, he watched and enjoyed regular programming of Westerns, situation comedies, and game shows. In the s, when he relaxed after his reviewing chores of the day were done, he laughed at programs such as Jerry Lester's Broadway Open House with its ribald humor and burlesque-era sketches.

But when it came time to evaluate a program, he struck a different pose. Although criticism was his major responsibility, Dad never stopped covering the news that television generated as well. Over the years he cultivated an impressive assortment of inside sources in the industry, many of whom called him at home with leaks and grievances that formed the basis for front-page stories.

He guarded the confidentiality of his sources and never discussed what they said with us. He did not keep his correspondence systematically, out of concern for his sources. Some clues emerge from the fragments that are left. In his notes for a book about television that never got written, my father was candid about the major executives he knew. William S. Over the years my father had a fascinating critical and personal relationship with Edward R.

They shared an addiction to nicotine and a passionate concern for the future of television as a positive cultural and political force in American society. When Murrow attacked Senator Joseph R. Yet he also warned in his columns that the editorializing in Murrow's program could be dangerous in other hands.

We heard much at home about the difference between the "Good Murrow" who spoke out for civil liberties and the "Bad Murrow" who pandered to popular taste in his interview program Person to Person. Dad's verdict in was that "the man who did more than any other for the documentary form enjoyed the very economic benefits from the operating principles he deplored.

After his retirement, my father recalled one instance in the political realm when his intervention as a critic made a significant difference. It came in late October when the networks failed to cover the televised deliberations of the United Nations Security Council at the height of the Suez crisis. With the threat of war in the air and the presidential election just days away, he took to his typewriter to denounce "The Shame of the Networks.

There was talk of a Pulitzer Prize, but that never happened. Another column, earlier in , drew a rather comical response. In it, he criticized the faith-healing tactics of evangelist Oral Roberts, who, as my father put it some years later, "always managed miraculous recoveries just before closing commercials. More than four thousand letters flooded in, forcing Arthur Hays Sulzberger to weave his way through the piled-up mailbags.

Roberts also instructed his flock to pray for my father's salvation and for my father to see the error of his ways. A lapsed Episcopalian who recommended to us that we slip into the back of any church when we felt religious and pray on our own, Dad thought that Roberts's concern for his soul was an ironic touch in light of the evangelist's hard-sell tactics as a television pitchman. My father kept his own political opinions out of his columns and reporting.

He had long since abandoned the Republican allegiance of his youth, as I discovered when I enthusiastically told him at the age of thirteen in what a great candidate Dwight D. Eisenhower was. Roosevelt and the Democratic Party. His liberalism owed a good deal to his experiences with the Federal Theater in the s and his skepticism about big business as he saw it in television. A sense of honesty and fair play shaped his reaction to the blacklisting of alleged Communists in television during the s.

He was an early critic of the booklet "Red Channels" and the way in which this list indicted performers for purported Communist ties without a fair hearing. When the actress Jean Muir was blacklisted in , he was her most persistent defender. Although he knew some Communists, he never regarded those in entertainment as a threat to the nation. The publishers of "Red Channels" he deemed opportunists who ran a kind of protection racket of exchanging "clearances" of Communists for money from the networks.

Something of a closet idealist behind his skepticism about politicians and network executives, my father cherished hopes that television might prove a means of cultural and educational enlightenment for the United States. He welcomed every evidence of such programming during the s and s. As time passed, however, he saw the medium becoming more devoted to profits and predictability and less concerned with creativity and positive change. His fascination with television waned. As he asked in , "How much interest can be generated about a medium which is losing excitement through a repetition of forms?

Newton Minow, the chairman of the Federal Communications Commission under Kennedy, acknowledged that my father's columns helped shape his thinking about what Minow called "the vast wasteland" of television.

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Yet during the last decade of his work as a critic, Dad felt a growing sense of frustration and disenchantment about television. A constant problem for my father throughout his career was his uncertain health. Never careful about his diet, increasingly he subsisted on coffee, cigarettes, drinks in the evening, and nervous energy. Sometimes he simply drank too much, as did my mother.

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Finally, Dad's system rebelled with intense duodenal ulcers that plagued him until a portion of his stomach was removed in the late s. By the time he was fifty he began to have symptoms of the circulatory problems that plagued him for the rest of his life. He joked about his condition and rarely complained in public, but at home it was evident that the pressures of his profession were consuming him.

My father loved working for The New York Times and gave the newspaper his deep personal loyalty. Yet the internal demands of his job added to the strain on his health and morale. The radio and television columns had their place at the back of the daily paper, interspersed with advertisements and notices about shipping news and other drab matters. Dad's columns and reviews competed for space in an obscure section of the paper, so readers had to make a special effort to find his criticism every day. In addition, there was the never-ending problem of the television and radio schedule itself.

Although TV Guide was gaining popularity with its weekly listings of programs, many readers in New York City still looked to their daily newspaper to find out what was on television each evening. My father spent endless hours balancing the limited space for program listings with demands from Arthur Hays Sulzberger for more news about reruns, color programming, and future shows.

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For movies, a previous review from the Times film critic was reduced to a phrase or two, and when viewers protested what the digested opinion said, Dad was the man responsible. Memo after memo flowed from management asking him for an improved, clearer, more readable schedule within a constricted space and for expanding network offerings. He never settled the problem to his or anyone else's permanent satisfaction.

Although my father got most of the public attention as the television critic of the Times, he did not run a one-man operation. In the s and s he received invaluable help from Val Adams and John P. Lisa Hamel worked as his efficient secretary in the mids. His closest personal relationship was with Richard F. A kind, thoughtful man, Shepard added an incisive wit and wry style to the columns of the department, and he provided my father with a sounding board for his frustrations and reservations about the direction of television.

My father's tenure as a critic fell into three distinct phases. From to , when the medium was evolving its modern form, he approached his critical work with eager expectation for what the television set might offer him. In the newspaper, under his overall guidance, produced an extensive and insightful appraisal of what television was doing to and for American society. My father drove himself hard during these years, and his health suffered as he grappled with a small staff and expanding responsibilities. In a taxing visit to Europe to look at foreign television, combined with worsening stomach problems, led him to consider changes in his job.

The looming prospect of college expenses for my brothers and me was also on his mind. So when CBS President Frank Stanton offered him a job in at the network with the undefined role of "information adviser," which would involve forecasting the future direction of the industry and a higher salary, he took it. He told friends, "It was a hard decision to make, but the new job is an exciting and interesting one. Stanton had simply silenced him as a critic.

My parents realized that he had made a dire professional mistake, and the job at the Times would soon be filled with his successor. One evening after work he ran into Turner Catledge, the Times managing editor, at the Algonquin Hotel bar. Over a drink he mentioned his unhappiness with CBS.

Meanwhile, the newspaper had not been able to find anyone as my father's successor, and Catledge asked him whether he would simply like to have his old job back. Catledge himself had once left the Times for another paper and then returned. He told Dad, "You can't describe this kind of experience.

You must live through it to know what the Times means. The Times called the six weeks at CBS a personal leave of absence, and by September the ill-fated experiment was history. As my father wrote to his publisher, "After the strange and rich sauces of Madison Avenue, there is nothing quite like home cooking. During the second major phase of his critical career, from the mids through the early s, Dad enjoyed the peak of his influence.

In the Oral Roberts controversy attracted wide attention. The Suez Canal debate at the end of the year illustrated his clout with the industry and the public. For his stinging assault on the inept performance of the networks, he received a Pulitzer Prize nomination from fellow critic Gilbert Seldes and then was the recipient of the George Foster Peabody Radio and Television Award in March During the quiz show scandals of the late s, Dad chastised his fellow reporters for their arrogance about the misfortunes of the video industry.

After clearing his intentions with the management of the Times, he wrote a column about the time-honored practice of "the junket," in which reporters had their expenses paid to cover some event of interest to the corporation that picked up the tab. At the end of the piece he also mentioned "'the Christmas loot,' the practice of showering holiday presents upon the high and low in journalism.

This column had the most direct impact on my brothers and me of all the writing that my father did. For many years we had marveled at the arrival of the cases of grapefruit, oranges, and liquor that came magically to our house in Old Greenwich. One year there were suspenders with little cigarette packages or Stork Club ties. We couldn't have the liquor just yet, but we all enjoyed the fruit and other goodies. Although John Crosby said that Dad "had fouled his own nest," my father's column did change the culture of taking gifts at the Times for a few years.

Thereafter he refused to accept even the smallest gift from a broadcaster or publicist. Two months after the junket column, he once again wrote a review that touched a nerve with his readers and illustrated his influence. Dad asked, "Is a season of perhaps twenty-six plays with fine casts worth a 3-cent postcard to WNTA-TV, 10 Columbus Circle, to demonstrate that there is a sizable audience for grown-up television? The viewer must help too. Standard Oil of New Jersey came forward in January to sponsor the program. In mid Channel 13 became a noncommercial educational station, and The Play of the Week series ended.

During these productive years, my father's colleagues profiled him for the house publication, Times Talk, in an article that captured well his devotion to his work and his absentminded approach to everyday matters. He took home the overcoats of his coworkers, often forgot his keys, and came to the office dressed with mismatched socks and bedraggled suits. As he pursued an exclusive story he would say, "The roof is falling in," amid his round of phone calls and industry contacts. His reluctance to go on vacation was also legendary at the Times and at home. Several times he filed copy about stories that he had encountered while traveling.

During the mids he spent a hectic and tiring day working as a television repairman in Stamford, Connecticut, and then wrote a piece for The New York Times Magazine about his adventures. Shy and reserved on the job, he indulged in lengthy conversations when he came home in the evening. He would plop down the four or five evening newspapers he brought with him, sit on the living room couch where his pockets left a small wealth of change amid the cushions , and recount the day's events.

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After the column was written in the evening, he would prepare a fried egg sandwich, open a bottle of Michelob, and talk into the night about television and affairs at the Times. A lifetime in the newspaper business left him with few illusions about humanity and its foibles, but he retained a vein of idealism that produced high expectations for himself and his family. Because he worked for The New York Times, he set forth certain ground rules for the family.

As my mother often told us, our father was "a minor celebrity," and we must always behave as though whatever we did might appear on the front page of the Greenwich Time or a New York tabloid. We were warned that any display of the anti-Semitism that pervaded southern Connecticut during the postwar years was both wrong and inappropriate because of the Sulzberger family and the Times.

That meant that my younger brothers had to forgo the swimming club that was a half-mile from our house because, as Dad put it, "they don't take Jews. Sometimes the subjects of Dad's criticism reacted with anger and written rebuttals to what he had said about their performances. My father believed that, since he had had his say in the Times, his detractors had a right to make their case as well. He often told me that he reviewed the performance of those who appeared on television and tried to separate his comments from personal attacks on those about whom he wrote.

That may not always have been true of the New York personalities "Jinx" Falkenburg and "Tex" McCrary, with whom he seemed to have a running testiness, but for the most part Dad avoided the personalism and cheap shots in his journalism that would pervade the profession in the s. The targets of my father's criticisms did not always take a detached view of what he had said about them.

In outspoken atheist Joseph Lewis filed a libel suit against Dad for his review of Lewis's appearance on the Betty Furness talk show. One of the guests was a man without arms and legs, and Lewis said that the man's condition raised questions about whether a compassionate God existed. Dad observed that "in casting aspersions on the efficacy of prayer and challenging God's presence because there are blind, mute and crippled among us, Mr. Lewis struck a note bordering on the sadistic. Now they were placed under the supervision of a cultural news editor, Joseph Herzberg, who had been installed to coordinate their activities.

In my father's mind, these changes reduced his autonomy within the paper and reflected management's lessening confidence in his performance as a critic. Further shaking his faith in the Times was the prolonged and bitter newspaper strike of That walkout, with the erosion of morale that followed it, convinced Dad that the paper he had known and loved was changing in new and sometimes unpalatable ways.

An event that symbolized these problems came in the autumn of when he reviewed Lester Markel's television program News in Perspective, which featured Times reporters commenting on the issues of the day. The program was in conception a forerunner of the format of journalistic talking heads that would become popular in the s. A brainchild of the talented and abrasive Markel, "it was a personal undertaking from start to finish. The dramatis personae happened to have been recruited from the Times staff," said Ivan Veit, one of my father's colleagues.

When he saw the show, Dad knew he was in trouble. In his review he wrote, " The New York Times has everything to learn about doing news on television" because the program was "over-organized" and "a long discussion of disconnected fragments. When the review came in to the night editor, he called Turner Catledge at home because of the potential reaction from Markel. Murdoch 's News International acquired the group in February Murdoch, an Australian who in became a naturalised American citizen, already owned The Sun and the News of the World , but the Conservative government decided not to refer the deal to the Monopolies and Mergers Commission , citing a clause in the Fair Trading Act that exempted uneconomic businesses from referral.

The Thomson Corporation had threatened to close the papers down if they were not taken over by someone else within an allotted time, and it was feared that any legal delay to Murdoch's takeover might lead to the two titles' demise. In return, Murdoch provided legally binding guarantees to preserve the titles' editorial independence. In , the newspaper bought the serialisation rights to publish the faked Hitler Diaries , thinking them to be genuine after they were authenticated by the own newspaper's own independent director, Hugh Trevor-Roper , the historian and author of The Last Days of Hitler.

Under Andrew Neil , editor from until , The Sunday Times took a strongly Thatcherite slant that contrasted with the traditional paternalistic conservatism expounded by Peregrine Worsthorne at the rival Sunday Telegraph. It also built on its reputation for investigations. Its scoops included the revelation in that Israel had manufactured more than nuclear warheads [15] and the publication in of extracts from Andrew Morton 's book, Diana: Her True Story in Her Own Words. In January , after the announcement of a strike by print workers, production of The Sunday Times , along with other newspapers in the group, was shifted to a new plant in Wapping, and the strikers were dismissed.

The print unions posted pickets and organised demonstrations outside the new plant to try to dissuade journalists and others from working there, in what became known as the Wapping Dispute. The demonstrations sometimes turned violent. The protest ended in failure in February In September , Style and Travel became two separate sections. The figures are now in and this newspaper stands totally vindicated The history of Aids is one of the great scandals of our time.

I do not blame doctors and the Aids lobby for warning that everybody might be at risk in the early days, when ignorance was rife and reliable evidence scant. John Witherow , who became editor at the end of after several months as acting editor , continued the newspaper's expansion.

A website was launched in and new print sections added: Home in , and Driving in , which in was renamed InGear. It reverted to the name Driving from 7 October , to coincide with the launch of a new standalone website, Sunday Times Driving. Technology coverage was expanded in with the weekly colour magazine Doors, and in The Month, an editorial section presented as an interactive CD-Rom. Magazine partworks were regular additions, among them Makers of Music, published over six weeks in John Witherow oversaw a rise in circulation to 1.

In common with other newspapers, The Sunday Times has been hit by a fall in circulation, which has declined from a peak of 1. It has a number of digital-only subscribers, which numbered 99, by January The independent directors rejected a permanent position for Ivens as editors to avoid any possible merger of the Sunday Times and daily Times titles. The Sunday Times has its own website. It previously shared an online presence with The Times , but in May they both launched their own sites to reflect their distinct brand identities. Since July , the sites have charged for access. An iPad edition was launched in December , and an Android version in August Since July , the digital version of the paper has been available on Apple's Newsstand platform, allowing automated downloading of the news section.

With over MB of content every week, it is the biggest newspaper app in the world. The Sunday Times iPad app was named newspaper app of the year at the Newspaper Awards and has twice been ranked best newspaper or magazine app in the world by iMonitor.

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Various subscription packages exist, giving access to both the print and digital versions of the paper. On 2 October , The Sunday Times launched Sunday Times Driving, a separate classified advertising site for premium vehicles that also includes editorial content from the newspaper as well as specially commissioned articles.

It can be accessed without cost. This page monthly magazine is sold separately from the newspaper and is Britain's best-selling travel magazine. Some of the more notable or controversial stories published in The Sunday Times include: [26]. In July , The Sunday Times was implicated in the wider News International phone hacking scandal which primarily involved the News of the World , a Murdoch tabloid newspaper published in the UK from to Former British prime minister Gordon Brown accused The Sunday Times of employing "known criminals" to impersonate him and obtain his private financial records.

The Irish edition of The Sunday Times was launched on a small scale on with just two staff, Alan Ruddock and John Burns who is at present associate editor. It used the slogan "The English just don't get it". Circulation had grown steadily to over , in the two decades before but has declined since and currently stands at 60, Jan to Jun The paper is heavily editionalised, with extensive Irish coverage of politics, general news, business, personal finance, sport, culture and lifestyle.

The office employs 25 people. The paper ended collaboration with Kevin Myers after it published a controversial column. For more than 20 years the paper has published a separate Scottish edition, which has been edited since January by Jason Allardyce. While most of the articles that run in the English edition appear in the Scottish edition, its staff also produces about a dozen Scottish news stories, including a front-page article, most weeks.

The edition also contains a weekly "Scottish Focus" feature and Scottish commentary, and covers Scottish sport in addition to providing Scottish television schedules. The Scottish issue is the biggest-selling quality newspaper in the market, outselling both Scotland on Sunday and the Sunday Herald. From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia. Largest-selling British national newspaper in the "quality press" market category.

For other uses, see The Sunday Times disambiguation. Published 28 April Retrieved 9 December Conservative Home. Retrieved 3 January The Guardian. Retrieved 7 October The Observer. Retrieved 17 August The Pearl of Days. Hamish Hamilton. Cornwell [other married names Whiteman, Robinson], Alice Ann — , goldmining industrialist and newspaper proprietor.

Oxford Dictionary of National Biography. Retrieved 10 Dec. BBC News. Retrieved 16 October News nature. Journalism Studies. Social Policy, the Media and Misrepresentation. The Sunday Times. John Witherow Media". News UK. Retrieved 19 June December The Independent. London, UK.