Jack Hartzman

In the early-to-mid 1970s Jack Hartzman and I used to play squash at Dolphin Square and at other courts around London. I wasn’t very good and, truth be told, neither was Jack, but we both enjoyed it, even though he often got the better of me. Our game, sometimes followed by a swim, set us up for the evening shift (under his command as Horseman) on World Desk. Jack always seemed to time our weekly match to follow a morning session with his therapist at which he unburdened himself of his troubles. Afterwards he would talk through some of it with me. Sometimes I felt that the squash was part of his therapy. Perhaps it was. At any event, it cemented an enduring friendship. RIP, Jack, much respected for his professional judgment and missed by so many. ■