“Those were the days, my friend, we thought they’d never end”—as the song from the 1960s goes. I can still remember the thrill of walking into the lobby at 444 Madison Avenue and seeing that week’s cover enlarged and illuminated on the wall. Outside, the Newsweek name was emblazoned high atop the building, visible from blocks away. I was 22 years old when I was hired as a secretary to the national affairs editor. I didn’t know much about journalism, but I had dropped out of college and I needed work. It was February 1963; opportunities for women were limited, and my goal was to find a job where what I typed would be interesting.