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A new biography reveals a complex and contentious figure, writes Michael Cannon, who worked for Murdoch in the mid 1940s
It is a curious experience to read the entrails of a man who gave you your first job as a journalist, exactly seventy years ago. I recall walking nervously into the third-floor oak-lined office overlooking Flinders Street in Melbourne, and facing up to a heavily built figure sitting motionless behind a large desk. Shrewd dark eyes peered at me from under bushy brows.
“I remember your grandfather,” Sir Keith Murdoch said abruptly. “Tell me, are you a c‑communist?” Some angel came to my rescue. “No,” I replied brightly. “I used to be, but not any more.”
“Good, you can start on Monday,” said KM. “Go and see the chief of staff.” And that was that...
