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...
Read the full article