He made the night better, as he made every night better, filling the humid air with stories about Bill Shoemaker and Woody Stephens and Secretariat. I stole a peek at his screen.īefore the night was over, Bill would finish his work and join us on the deck. I haltingly provided it, and Bill thanked me. Bill called me in and asked for a clarification on a quote from that afternoon. I was 25, a writer at The Schenectady Gazette, dabbling in horse racing coverage. He was 40 years old, three years into a remarkable 23-year career at Sports Illustrated. I stood outside the door and watched as Bill typed, wondering what genius might be unfolding in his words. We were finished with our work, but in a cramped study off the kitchen, Bill Nack was still doing his. The Travers had been run that afternoon, and the celebration of the race had carried into the summer night. It was August 1981, at a house party in Saratoga Springs. Nearby we all drank deeply from glasses and bottles and cans and talked a little too loudly about the events of the day. HE WAS sitting in the darkness, silhouetted by blue light from a first-generation portable computer. A Life Remembered - William Nack Sports Illustrated | April 23 - 30, 2018
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