Herbert Warren Wind When I was living in Manhattan more than a half century ago my eye was often caught by stories in the New York Herald Tribune by a T. Waverley Root. I was unsure whether Waverley Root was a man or a woman, and down the years have forgotten whether he/she had a particular specialty (turns out he was a food writer of some renown). One thing I haven’t forgotten is the byline. Ten years later and now back in London I came across another belter of a byline: Herbert Warren Wind, who was writing in The New Yorker, often about golf, one of the three sporting loves of my life. From that day on I scoured newspaper stands and newsagents in London for copies of the famous American magazine. There was a good newsstand at Paddington station, I remember, one outside Sloane Square tube station and one on the King’s Road in Chelsea that stayed open until the early hours of the morning. If I found a New Yorker that had a piece by Herb in it, I felt as Charlie Bucket did when he found the Golden Ticket in Roald Dahl’s “Charlie and th...