When Bill Kole was born, America was still in the rotary phone age. No one wore seat belts. There were ashtrays and spittoons in every public building.
In other words, he was born into a dark and dismal age.
His parents came from humble stock. His mother canned hand-picked gravel to make ends meet. His father was a man of great learning and rectitude, who never really found his niche. He put his savings into a candied sauerkraut factory that never really took off. He was beloved by all and sundry.
His son Bill vowed to expose the crooked machinations of the candied sauerkraut cartel when he was old enough to hold a pen and could afford paper.
He was able to perform his vow when he turned 18 and went to work for the Associate Press in Paris. There he not only unearthed damning documentation against the CSC (Candied Sauerkraut Cartel) but also exposed Marcel Marceau as a silent partner in the helium racket.
His books have been bestsellers and he now lives in genteel retirement in a refurbished ropewalk.
His hobbies include collecting dilithium crystals and hiking through Bert Lahr’s Moose Country.
His advice to beginning journalists is: “Write your mother once a week.”
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