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The matronly maned Graydon Carter is receiving all kinds of backslaps and ass-grabbery for shepherding the biggest scoop of all ... well, this week anyway, in between hundreds of ad pages with pictures of people with no cheeks. But, as it turns out, when the proverbial dung was hitting the proverbial air percolator, Graydon was in a plane on the way back from his honeymoon.

Carter had been negotiating with the Felt family for months — they were even turned down by Judith Regan; perhaps if they had negotiated in an apartment right next to Ground Zero ... — and was startled by their naivete about the media industry. The magazine eventually paid the family $10,000 and kept the story hush-hush. By the time word got out, the Carters were returning from the Caribbean.

Best part of the Guardian UK/Salon story? Carter is referred to as a "dandy of the old school" and "brass-balled."—WL

Carter: "I Was Terrified" [Guardian UK/Salon]
"I'm The Man They Called Deep Throat" [Vanity Fair]

[A brief interjection: Am I the only one who notices that Carter's tan perfectly matches the shade of the wood paneling in the background? —JC]