"It is a cramped basement annex, stacked high with metal filing cabinets, full of three-fourths of a million pounds of old newspaper clippings and photos, going back 160 years. It’s simply called “the morgue.” • To get here, a reporter must leave the shiny glass tower that is the 40th Street headquarters of the New York Times, walk a half-block down the street, and descend three levels below the sidewalk. There, in a nondescript tower, she will emerge from a dirty elevator, walk past a janitor’s closet, then past a giant, rusted pump contraption with running water, and finally reach a pair of metal doors. There are glue traps with belly-up cockroaches in the corner. • “I swear, we haven’t taken you to a torture chamber,” jokes my guide, a Times photo editor, leading me through the double doors. There is no computer in the morgue. No internet service. No cell reception. If we were to die here — perhaps by an improperly secured two-ton cabinet — it’s safe to say it would take days for anyone to find our bodies. • Welcome to the archives repository of the most respected newspaper in the world." #архивисты - × × ×

(Жаль, что за все годы парни в тамблере не научились делать в своих темах нормальные тайтлы страниц.) - × × ×

“Roth didn’t have what you might have called a traditional reporting background. He joined the morgue in 1993, after visiting to research his distant cousin, Times reporting great Meyer Berger. He says he’s worked as a stockbroker, landscaper, art dealer, cross-country truck driver, and a narcotics search agent at JFK — a skill that came in handy for the Times when TWA Flight 800 went down (he knew the onboarding and offboarding procedures). • Ask Roth about almost anything — New York City explosions, feminist history, Yeats, Iran — and he will know the answer. It’s as if the wisdom of the morgue has filtered into his blood.” - × × ×