Back when I worked for the Philadelphia Bulletin I suddenly was assigned to cover the annual banquet given by the organizers of the United Fund. My face, I guess, showed that I didn't think much of the job.

The editor tried to make me feel better. "I want you to get a really offbeat story," he told me. I went out and interviewed some of the banquet guests who were being helped by the fund -- the impoverished, the ill, the lame, the halt, and the blind. When I came back I wrote what I thought was a moving story and submitted it.

"No, no, no," the editor who had wanted originality said. "Look. Go back to the clips and look at last year's story. That will give you the right idea."

I took the recommended clipping from the library. It was a straightforward unvarnished account of the dinner, enumerating sums collected and describing self-congratulatory speeches. I followed it word for word, simply substituting names, figures, and quotations. "This is terrific," the editor said. And the story ran on the front page.

The next year the editor said to me, "Mike, you did such a good job last time, go out and cover the United Fund again." I went, then returned to the library for the clip and repeated the process. "Better than ever," the delighted editor said. And again the story was on page one. To his happiness, I performed the exercise the third year as well. In my fourth and final year at The Bulletin I did it one more time. On this occasion the editor read it and began to frown. "I don't know, Mike," he said to me. "This seems to have lost some of its zip."

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