Anniversary Song

"You must forgive me," wrote the editor of the Illustrated London News under a picture of a snow-maned old man frowning across his desk, "if I have been ill advised in publishing the photograph shown above." Thus, reluctantly allowing his picture to appear in I.L.N.'s pages last week, 82-year-old Sir Bruce S. Ingram marked his 60th anniversary as editor of the world's oldest (118) picture magazine.

Founded when the Union Jack fluttered from Surrey to Singapore, the Illustrated London News has survived and prospered as the embers of empire flickered. Main credit for its adjustment to the changing times rests with Editor Ingram. On any Monday morning, Ingram can be found on hands and knees in his office in Ingram House drawing up I.L.N.'s layouts. Picture news ranges from comprehensive coverage of major events to one-shot side-lights that add up to a sophisticated sampling of the week's events. Backstopping the pictures is a concise commentary that follows Ingram's belief in "writing so that 'he who runs may read.' "

I.L.N.'s features reflect the far-ranging enthusiasms of its editor. Convinced that "monarchy is the backbone of our nation," Ingram faithfully records the movements of the royal family, extends this interest to crowned heads from Tokyo (characteristic caption: "Another charming picture of the Japanese royal family") to Teheran (recent example: a shot displaying new Queen Farah's shapely legs to full advantage). World War I Captain Ingram is also partial to new weapons, runs meticulously detailed, cutaway drawings that have delighted readers from the time of the Dreadnought to the present-day Nautilus. Ingram has never had staff photographers, keeps costs down by hiring freelancers to cover coronations, disasters and funerals. "I make it a rule never to look at the back of a photograph when I pick it out," he says. "I don't care tuppence who sent it in."

As he started his seventh decade on the job, Ingram and I.L.N. were still in fine fettle. Circulation hovered around 500,000, and the magazine had just plowed $1,500,000 into a new printing plant, moved its twelve staffers into a handsome new building on John Adam Street. Last week, as carpenters were putting the finishing touches on his office, Sir Bruce was without a desk for the first time in 60 years. "Not that it makes any difference," shrugged a staffer. "He never was the kind of editor who could sit at a desk."