Jim Fisher never looked to me like a newspaperman.
He looked like a Kansas rancher.
While most career journalists are prone to corpulence (too many donuts, too much time sitting at a keyboard), Jim was as lean as the Marlborough Man…with whom he shared a love of tobacco.
From the day I first met Jim in the city room of the Kansas City Star until my last sighting of him more than a decade ago, his looks hardly ever changed.
He always had a four-day growth of chin stubble (I never understood this…at some point wouldn’t it either turn into an actual beard or be cut back to baby-bottom smoothness?). His hair was trimmed close…not quite Marine D.I. close, but getting there.
His wardrobe never varied: Well-worn blue jeans, a wrinkled shirt (more…)
Butler's Cinema Scene 