Sam Anderson

Hi. Hello. My name's Sam Anderson. Hi. I'm a journalist. We're actually making a podcast.

Hi. Hello. My name's Sam Anderson. Hi. I'm a journalist. We're actually making a podcast.

Do you remember what it felt like reading that note?

Do you remember what it felt like reading that note?

He? Not they?

He? Not they?

You never want to think your next-door neighbor is the serial killer, but he lives next to somebody.

You never want to think your next-door neighbor is the serial killer, but he lives next to somebody.

I called everybody in the office and I just said, how many more ways can we fuck this thing up?

I called everybody in the office and I just said, how many more ways can we fuck this thing up?

I had several dreams about that house behind me. Or dreams about setting it on fire. One night I did.

I had several dreams about that house behind me. Or dreams about setting it on fire. One night I did.

My name is Sam Anderson. I am a staff writer for the New York Times Magazine. I kind of write about everything. I think my beat is subjects that I get totally obsessed with and then force my editors to let me write about. And a subject I've been obsessed with for so many years now is the old Leatherman.

My name is Sam Anderson. I am a staff writer for the New York Times Magazine. I kind of write about everything. I think my beat is subjects that I get totally obsessed with and then force my editors to let me write about. And a subject I've been obsessed with for so many years now is the old Leatherman.

He's a sort of legendary folk hero from the 19th century who used to walk in this giant circle 365 miles around through New York and Connecticut over and over and over again for decades at such regular intervals that people said you could set your clocks by it. He wore this big, funky leather suit that he stitched together himself. And no one knew where he came from or why he was doing this.

He's a sort of legendary folk hero from the 19th century who used to walk in this giant circle 365 miles around through New York and Connecticut over and over and over again for decades at such regular intervals that people said you could set your clocks by it. He wore this big, funky leather suit that he stitched together himself. And no one knew where he came from or why he was doing this.

He was a total mystery to the people who lived along his route. Newspapers published basically like fan fiction about the old Leatherman, origin stories that people just made up about him. I think he was kind of a perfect vehicle for people to express their own anxieties and fantasies, just all kinds of trauma, tragedy, people projected onto this mysterious guy.

He was a total mystery to the people who lived along his route. Newspapers published basically like fan fiction about the old Leatherman, origin stories that people just made up about him. I think he was kind of a perfect vehicle for people to express their own anxieties and fantasies, just all kinds of trauma, tragedy, people projected onto this mysterious guy.

I stumbled across the old Leatherman while I was researching something else, and for whatever reason, it hit me like a bolt of lightning. I think what got to me was, number one, it's a great mystery, but number two, there was something really moving about this man and his relationship to the towns that he walked through.

I stumbled across the old Leatherman while I was researching something else, and for whatever reason, it hit me like a bolt of lightning. I think what got to me was, number one, it's a great mystery, but number two, there was something really moving about this man and his relationship to the towns that he walked through.