There is no excitement anywhere in the world, short of war, to match the excitement of the American presidential campaign.
Those 40 or 50 national correspondents who had followed Kennedy since the beginning of his electoral exertions into the November days had become more than a press corps - they had become his friends and, some of them, his most devoted admirers.
When a reporter sits down at the typewriter, he's nobody's friend.
When that book came out, it was like Columbus telling about America at the court of Ferdinand and Isabella.
When the bus or the plane rolled or flew through the night, they sang songs of their own composition about Mr Nixon and the Republicans in chorus with the Kennedy staff and felt that they, too, were marching like soldiers of the Lord to the New Frontier.
I class myself as a manual laborer.