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208 pages, Paperback
First published September 1, 1999
He might be a bookworm and an oddball, but he was a practiced slow teller of homespun jokes, occasionally scatological (probably in the fart-and-turd kind)
He was an unassuming but not, I think, a modest man. He always talked of his plainness, but I suspect he protested too much: he surely knew that his unmistakable face was one of his great assets, and he was never indifferent to publicity—in his pockets when he died they found eight laudatory press cuttings.
He was essentially a nice man. Academic historians cannot allow themselves such flip idiomatic judgments, but to an outsider like me that seems about the truth of it. He was a nice man. He could be scheming, irritable, disingenuous, but he was never pompous or overbearing. [Karl Marx called him “one of the few men who became great while remaining good.”]