This much I know: Graydon Carter, journalist, 75

Photograph by Jeff Henrikson

As a child I was always looking for ways to make money. When the local cemetery put up a sign looking for grave-diggers, a friend and I signed up. It was backbreaking. We quit after one day.

Small magazines are festering pots of bitter infighting. At college, I happened upon an office full of people setting up a political and literary publication. I was made art director. One by one they all left and I wound up being the editor.

My simmering anxiety kicked into gear when I became the editor of Vanity Fair. It was such a public job and I’m a private person. Before the Oscars party, I’d take half a beta-blocker to calm down.

Very few good things happen after midnight. Getting to bed before then is almost always a good idea.

Don’t put a picture up in your office of you shaking hands with Bill Clinton, unless you know that Bill Clinton has the same photograph on his wall.

I am able to fall asleep almost anywhere. For 50 years, I’ve been having a 20-minute after-lunch power nap.

My greatest achievements are my five kids, none of whom have tattoos or public social media presences.

Only prank somebody who knows you have great affection for them. One of my best friends is godfather to our youngest daughter. He’s Jewish and asked what to wear at the christening. I told him a cassock is traditional.

I grew up with dogs and always have one. A dog is part of the essence of life.

Trump was a different person when I first met him 40 years ago. He had the charm of an aluminium-siding salesman. He didn’t appear to have this current streak of wanton cruelty.

I’d feel naked leaving the house without a handkerchief. Mine are from Hermès: my one great luxury.

I’m not an alpha male, I’m more of a beta. Maybe a B+ on a good day. I dislike “bro” culture and have never called anybody “dude”.

There are advantages to getting older. You’re wiser than you were at 50.

Kindness is highly underrated. People who are kind have longer shelf lives than those who aren’t.

When the Going Was Good: an Editor’s Adventures During the Last Golden Age of Magazines is published by Grove Press, £20