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Cozy and Festive

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Holding hands on Columbus Avenue. 3:00 PM. Photo: JH.
Tuesday, December 3, 2013.  The weather is like those next door neighbors you never see. You know they’re there but whatever. Dress warmly my mother’s voice in my head will say…even if you don’t feel like it.

Yesterday, I went down to meet a friend for lunch at Michael’s.Peggy Siegal was throwing one of her stylish movie-promo lunches in the Garden Room. The restaurant dining room is now fully swagged in pine boughs and red ribbons and there is something cozy and festive about it an LA/NY sorta way. This is happening all over town now.

Peggy said to me: “Guess where I spent Thanksgiving?"

Guess where Peggy spent her Thanksgiving? ...
I thought, oh well, here it comes ... Peggy gets around (the world).

“Where?" I said.

Martha Stewart’s."

“In Bedford?”

“Uh-huh.”

Martha told me last week at the Tiffany lunch that she was having her Thanks in Bedford and cooking. “So was it fantastic?” (It would have to be, no?  I mean: Martha Stewart?)

“Uh-huh ... amazing ...” Peggy then went on to describe some of the items on the menu. You know it was exquisite. The thing about Martha is she personally likes it like that; it’s not promo; it’s solid Martha.

My lunch partner, hearing the conversation, then pulled out a picture (on his cell phone) of the house he owned in Bedford, not far from Martha. It was beautiful, stately, MGM movies mansion.

Wow. Did he still own it? No, he sold it because when he was first going out with the girl who would become his wife (number two) and they were getting serious, she said “you’re not going to keep the house, are you?”

So he sold it. For a lot more than he paid of course. But he loved it and still misses it. He and the lady did marry, and are now divorced. Alas, alack and all that.
Martha's house in Bedford.
I spent the better part of the weekend reading a book I bought on Friday afternoon when I was over on the West Side and happened by a Barnes & Noble on West 83rd and Broadway. I first read about it in Liz' column. The book: Bill Bryson’s“One Summer; America 1927.”

Before Liz' column, I had heard or seen the author’s name although I didn’t associate it with a book. It turns out, I’ve since learned, that he is a very popular author, having written a couple of books that have actually brought him a fan base. And for good reason: you learn and you think.

Click to order Bill Bryson's One Summer: America, 1927.
I saw his face on the back flap of the dust jacket -- a likeable face with a ready smile that hints “belly-laugh”. His prose and his attitude about life supports that “perception” (although a lot of it, while astounding and amazing, is not funny).

While looking at it in B&N, I did open the book for a second to see what the text was like. Obviously it was enough to make me buy it (along with the Barbara Stanwyck biography – Part I is 1000 pages and will I ever crack it, and do I really care?).

It was Friday afternoon, and so when I got home the first thing I did after I put my groceries away, was to open the book and see what gives?  I knew it was a “popular” history. The names: Babe Ruth, Jack Dempsey, Calvin Coolidge, Sacco and Vanzetti, flagpole sitters, Bill Tilden, Al Capone, Mount Rushmore, and Charles Lindbergh – to name just a few. (I’ve got another 150 pages to go).  I knew all those names – heard them around the house growing up. Mostly I didn’t know much about any of them, with the exception of Charles Lindbergh where my knowledge of the man was/is still thin.

This book is like reading a documentary proposal that you can’t tear yourself away from. No, it’s not a proposal but it may as well be: you can practically see and hear it all. Bryson’s a terrific writer who draws you in and keeps your (changing) mind occupied to the point that you don’t even want to leave the house or turn on the TV.
Henry Ford.
Charles Lindbergh.
It’s like candy, for those of us -- would-be anthropologists all -- who can never get enough of reading about people – all kinds of people, all civilizations, all societies. The subject is one summer of one year in a decade that has been monumentalized as “roaring,” as “the jazz age,” and mainly a loosening of the bonds of polite society of the Victorians.

It has taken several more decades for us to see this loosening reality because what followed this festival of the flappers and the flagpole sitters, the corrupt and the stupid, and the getting and spending, coupled with the seminal changes brought about by our technology (and specifically Henry Ford’s Model T) ... what followed was: The  Great Depression,and then the Second World War. Darkness of the worst kind, a most somber one it was.
Lou Gehrig and Babe Ruth.
Jack Dempsey.Ruth Snyder.
Bill Bryson tells us about ourselves– I mean us, you, me, now, in real terms, not dollars and cents. We get the human part. Warts, lots of warts and all. Example: the boringly taciturn yet enigmatic Calvin Coolidge is a fascinating character. You ever see that black and white now-archival photograph of him wearing a feathered Indian headdress and a plain grey business suit, looking like some hayseed at a carnival? The absurdity belies the reality of the man at that very moment: He had just announced that he “did not choose” to run for President – not unlike Lyndon Johnson’s surprise announcement 37 years later. And he was very happy.

Bryson reminds us that Silent Cal's brief statement: “I do not choose to run for President in nineteen-twenty-eight” left some commentators more than slightly askance. Was "do not choose" the same as "I will not"? Nevertheless he provides the evidence that Coolidge really wanted to get out of there (the White House). He famously spent only three hours a day at his desk, and otherwise took a lot of naps and enjoyed sitting around counting the number of cars driving by the White House. Also,he found Hoover -- the man who believed it was "inevitably" his successor almost pathologically annoying but useful.
Calvin Coolidge.
Sacco and Vanzetti.
"One Summer" is history as it actually is: gossip distilled and petrified. The heat, the rains (record), the vanity and the despair. Human behavior under the circumstances. Despite the genius and the astounding talent found therein, Bryson’s story reminds that into every orchard must fall (a lot of) rotten apples. Yet the talent and the genius remain awesome, and something to remember it by.

The chapters run from May through September (followed by an Epilogue). We can see our reflections in these pages. It is inescapable and thought-provoking. It is also entertaining – like a movie, even. And dead serious.
Bill Tilden.
Al Capone.
I love this book. I haven’t finished it so I can’t sum it up for you but even if I could I wouldn’t want to spoil the pleasure you’ll have in discovering what Bryson has mined, analyzed and recorded in broad, sometimes hilarious, other times distressing, strokes of discovery. He loves it too.

What makes it so accessible almost a century later is its timeliness, probably based on the nature of our behavior as humans versus the rest of the animal world.
David Sarnoff.
On November 22nd, a week ago last Friday, more than 400 women – leaders of industry, media, government, and the arts – gathered in the Grand Ballroom of the Plaza for the 27th annual Citymeals-on-Wheels “Power Lunch for Women.” This is an by-invitation-only benefit. Katie Couric emceed, and they raised $1.3 million – or enough to provide 202,000 meals for New York’s homebound elderly.

Citymeals was started as a small, helpful, caring idea by the late James Beard, the very much present Gail Greene and a few friends to share Thanksgiving dinner with a number of people who were infirm, or alone, and/or just in need.

This year, they honored Donald Tober, Chairman of Sugar Foods. Greene told the luncheon audience, “Donald was one of the first people I called in 1981 after reading a New York Times article describing how homebound elderly New Yorkers weren’t receiving weekend or holiday meals.  Ever since, Donald, along with his wife Barbara, has been one of Citymeals’ strongest supporters, a founding board member, activist, fund-raiser and a go-to in emergencies."
Barbara and Donald Tober.
This year they also honored (“for their compassion, philanthropy and longstanding support of Citymeals”) Betsy Bernardaud, Executive Vice-Presdent of Bernardaud; and Cyndi Lauper the singer/songwriter whose currently got a hit show on Broadway (“Kinky Boots”).

Lauper performed her hit “Time After Time” to a backdrop of images of Citymeals recipients.

“If you’re lost you can look – and you will find me –If you fall I will catch you – I’ll be waiting Tie After Time.

That’s the credo of Citymeals, as Beth Shapiro, its Executive Director reminded the guests. “For more than three decades, we have been there, time after time, for our homebound elderly neighbors providing a lifeline of support and companionship that allows them to remain in their homes, where they want to continue to live.”
Beth Shapiro, Betsy Bernardaud, and Michel Bernardaud.
Honoree Bernardaud has sponsored many Citymeals fundraisers over the years including the Power Lunch.

Among the distinguished guest list were: Citymeals-on-Wheels Co-Founder and Board Chair Gael Greene, Co-President of the Citymeals-on-Wheels Board of Directors Anne E. Cohen, Nina Arianda, Cécilia Attias, Jennifer Baum, Aliyyah Baylor, Samantha Boardman, Bobbi Brown, Sharon Bush, Laura Day, Elisabeth de Kergorlay, Patricia Duff, Dasha Epstein, Tovah Feldshuh, Ruth Finley, Anne Fulenwider, Kathie Lee Gifford, Trish Goff,Donna Hanover, Caroline Hirsch, Dana Ivey, Harriette Rose Katz, Rikki Klieman,Padma Lakshmi,Alexandra Lebenthal, Margo MacNabb Nederlander, Debra Messing,Liz Neumark, Cynthia Nixon, Norah O’Donnell, Bernadette Peters,Ruth Reichl, Betty Rollin, Brooke Shields, Silda Wall Spitzer, Christina Steinbrenner, Gloria Steinem, Marcy Syms, Laurie Tisch, Lizzie Tisch, Barbara Tober, Kathleen Turner, Lillian Vernon, Dr. Ruth Westheimer, Patricia Wexler, Audrey Wilf, Leslie Ziff, and others.
Kathleen Turner.Katie Couric.
As is the tradtion, a limited number of men are invited to join the privilege of lunching with these most powerful women ... for the admission price of $10,000 per.

This year’s “10K Men” included Citymeals-on-Wheels Board of Directors Chef Daniel Boulud, Albert Behler, Michel Bernardaud, Jeff Bliss, Jeffrey Chodorow, Joseph Cohen, Bill Fischer, Bobby Flay, Robert S. Grimes, Rich Krawiec, Daniel Levin, Michael Lynne, Craig Pfeiffer, John Pomerantz, Michel Roux, John Shapiro, Bob Shaye, William T. Speck, Myron Stein, Hal Steinbrenner, Jonathan Tisch, Steven Zavagli, and Preston Robert Tisch (in memoriam).
Cynthia Nixon.Brooke Shields.Silda Wall Spitzer.
Major sponsors include Bernardaud, Paramount Group, Amherst, Bloomberg and the Travelers Companies, Inc.  Other sponsors include Teleflora, Bentley Meeker, Bobbi Brown Cosmetics, Citarella, Citi, Duane Reade Charitable Foundation, Marie Claire, Zabar’s and zabars.com, Bellus Wines, Bloomingdale’s, Lalique, Pango Rhum, by Rhum Barbancourt and Setton Farms. Citymeals official sponsors are American Airlines and FIJI Water.

One hundred percent of the money raised from ticket sales at Power Lunch, and all Citymeals events, goes toward the preparation and delivery of nutritious meals to homebound elderly in the five boroughs of New York City. 
Dr. Ruth Westheimer.Michel Roux and Gloria Steinem.
Cyndi Lauper and Jonathan Tisch.Bernadette Peters.
Just so you know the reality: More than 60 percent of Citymeals recipients are over 80 years old; 23 percent are over 90; dozens have lived at least a century.  All recipients are chronically disabled by conditions such as vision loss, diabetes, arthritis, and heart disease.  Nearly all need assistance walking.  It is estimated that 66 percent use a cane, 39 percent use a walker, 16 percent use a wheelchair. Citymeals recipients are also isolated: 73 percent live alone; 40 percent rarely or never leave their homes; 8 percent have no one with whom they can talk; and many are at risk for malnutrition.

All this from just a small but inspired idea of a few friends giving to others/neighbors, people in need on a holiday celebrating our fortunate bounty. Thank YOU neighbor!
Donatella Arpaia.Debra Messing.Nina Arianda.
Beth Shapiro, Anne E. Cohen, and Suri Kasirer.
Feeding and caring for older New Yorkers since 1981, Citymeals-on-Wheels (citymeals.org) supplies a continuous lifeline of nutritious food and human company to our city’s homebound elderly.

Citymeals works with 33 community-based meal centers to deliver over 2 million weekend, holiday and emergency meals to nearly 18,000 of our frail aged neighbors. Last year, more than 12,000 volunteers provided over 55,000 hours of volunteerism. One hundred percent of donations from the public goes toward the preparation and delivery of meals for our most vulnerable neighbors. Citymeals, a 501 (c)(3) charity, has a Charity Navigator 4-star rating and meets the Better Business Bureau’s Wise Giving Alliance Standards.
Christina and Hal Steinbrenner with Lizzie and Jonathan Tisch.
Bobbi Brown, Padma Lakshmi, and Debra Messing.
Donna Hanover, Kathleen Turner, and Janet Rodgers.
Beth Shapiro, Aliyyah Baylor, Emily Tisch Sussman, and Laurie Tisch.
Keren Craig, Patricia Wexler, Kathie Lee Gifford, and Georgina Chapman.
Lillian Vernon.
Ruzwana Bashir, Samantha Boardman, and Tania Higgins.
Craig Pfeiffer.
Dana Ivey.
Jonathan Tisch, Bobbi Brown, and Maureen Case.
Joseph Cohen and Aliyyah Baylor.
Ruth Reichl and Michael Lynne.
If you didn’t read Carol Joynt’s Washington Social Diary yesterday, and you’re interested in how those folks entertain themselves and each other these days, and who does it best and most effectively, and what happens when they do, take a look.
Photographs by Maggie Marguerite Studios, Samuel Stuart, and Alan Barnett (Citymeals).

Contact DPC here.

It’s that time of the year

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10:00 PM. Photo: JH.
Wednesday, December 4, 2013. Cold but not too; some Sun, some clouds, where the weather dulls everything in sight. It’s that time of the year.

This past week, the Telegraph of London ran an obituary of the 4th Earl of Dudley, known to many as just plain Billy Dudley, who died on November 16, a little less than two months from his 94th birthday, and exactly two years to the day of the death of his wife Maureen, Countess of Dudley.

Countess and Earl of Dudley.
The Dudleys were very popular on this side of the Atlantic. They visited New York fairly frequently, which is how I met them.

Billy was one of those British gents who always had a smile with his hello, and a twinkle in his eye that implied laughter was on the way. Maureen, as she was known to friends, was warm and friendly, and like her husband was glad to see friends. I always had the feeling they were glad to see me. The feeling was mutual. I mention this because we were really just acquaintances.

I think that it was probably true, however, because they were the kind of people who did  like people and were glad to see them. Such personal generosity is not as commonplace as you might think it should be or would be with the Very Social animals who inhabit this world, and particularly the world where the Dudleys held some sway –in New York and London.

I hadn’t seen them in a few years. Maureen died of cancer two years ago at 78, and had been ill for at least a year before. Although I knew Billy only from the few times we had dinner together in New York, he was one of those people who always shared the pleasure of his company.

In reading the Telegraph obituary, and then re-reading the Telegraph’s obituary of Maureen, which was published at about this time two years ago, I got a much stronger sense of these two friendly people, and insight into them and their relationship. Firstly I knew very little about their past lives because it never came up. The prominence both experienced in their young adulthood was before my time.

William Humble David Ward, 4th Earl of Dudley, 1939. © National Portrait Gallery, London
The young actress Maureen Swanson.
Billy came from the aristocracy and sat in the House of Lords. He’d been married before to an Argentinian woman with whom he had a son who is his heir, and two daughters. He met Maureen when he was in his late 30s and his marriage was evidently already foundering, and she was in her mid-20s, a very successful film actress – on the brink of  real stardom. This was in the late 1950s. Maureen was Show Business and Billy was heir to a wealthy earldom of long standing historically.

The Prince and the Showgirl, almost but not quite. He was a man of obvious stature in his community, and personality;  and she was a beauty. And hot. According to the obituaries of both, their marriage had its rocky moments but it turned out to be an ideal for both personalities. Together they had five daughters and a son. So Billy was the father of nine.

I’m running Billy’s obituary first. You get some sense of the man from it. But then in the second – Maureen’s obit – you understand more clearly, not only the man but also their bond that was evident when you were in their company.

It is never surprising to learn after the fact that the marriage, any marriage, is not/was not as copasetic as it might appear in polite company. But with the Dudleys you definitely had the feeling that they liked each other, and understood each other – and were safe with each other in that goldfish bowl of a society that they belonged to because of his peerage and patrimony.

The following is from the Telegraph of London last week:

The 4th Earl of Dudley was a former ADC to Lord Wavell who married an actress and once satirised Princess Michael in verse

The 4th Earl of Dudley, who has died aged 93, was ADC to the Viceroy of India, Lord Wavell, for two years during the war, and in peacetime became an enthusiastic amateur actor and successful businessman.

William Humble David Ward, always known as Billy, was born on January 5 1920, the elder son of the 3rd Earl of Dudley, descendant of Humble Ward (the son of a London goldsmith), who was raised to the peerage as Baron Ward in the 17th century. Billy’s great-grandfather, the 11th Lord Ward, was created Viscount Ednam and Earl of Dudley in February 1860.

Billy’s mother was the former Lady Rosemary Leveson-Gower, only daughter of the 4th Duke of Sutherland. She died in the Meopham air disaster in 1930, a few months after the death of her younger son, run down on Chelsea Bridge. Eric Dudley had taken an earlier flight for business reasons and so survived.

Billy’s grandfather, the 2nd Earl, who died in 1932, was Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland and Governor-General of Australia. After the death of his first wife, Rachel (née Gurney), he married Gertrude Monckton— formerly Miss Gertie Millar, the Gaiety Girl.

Queen Mary.
Duke of Windsor.
There were close ties between the 3rd Earl, Billy’s father, and the Duke of Windsor, who when Prince of Wales, had courted Billy’s mother. Queen Mary had vetoed her as a Royal bride on the grounds of “bad blood” — there was a touch of madness in the Leveson-Gower line. The Prince stood sponsor for the infant Billy at his christening and later used to stay with the Dudleys at Himley Hall, near Dudley, and Great Westwood, King’s Langley.

On one occasion King Edward, as the Prince became in 1936, went to spend the weekend with Billy’s father. Some time later, the Earl and young Billy were favoured with a teatime visit by Queen Mary.

“I understand that my son was here recently,” Queen Mary said to Lord Dudley. He admitted that this was so. “And that so was Mrs Simpson.” Again Dudley concurred. “And Mr Simpson. And Mr Simpson’s lady friend.”

The Earl, now blushing hard, had to agree that it was true.

Queen Mary then insisted on being shown the sleeping arrangements. It soon became apparent that the bedrooms of the Prince of Wales and Wallis Simpson shared a connecting bathroom, as did those of Simpson and his girlfriend. “I see,” said the Queen stiffly. “Very convenient.”

Billy later remained friends with his godfather. He was amused at the possibility that the Duke of Windsor might have been his father, especially when evidence emerged that the Prince of Wales had been known to visit his mother privately after her marriage.

Billy Ward was brought up at Himley. The family then owned 30,000 acres in Staffordshire and Worcestershire, and some of the most valuable iron, steel and coal interests in the country. He won a scholarship to Eton and, aged 16, by then Lord Ednam, an exhibition to Christ Church, Oxford. A brilliant academic career was damaged when he suffered from meningitis and then his university education was interrupted by the outbreak of the Second World War.

Having joined the Blues as a trooper, in 1941 Lord Ednam was commissioned lieutenant in the 10th Royal Hussars (PWO), his father’s old regiment. In 1942-43 he was ADC to the Viceroy of India, Lord Wavell, and in 1943-44 Adjutant, the 10th Hussars. He saw action in Italy, where he was wounded in September 1944.

In 1948 he joined the board of Round Oak Steelworks (founded as the Earl of Dudley’s Round Oak Works in 1897), of which his father was chairman; but the company was nationalised in the 1950s.

He was an enthusiastic amateur actor, at home in the company of actors and film stars. In 1954 he was a member of the amateur cast of “The Frog,” a play by Ian Hay and Edgar Wallace, staged in aid of charity at the Scala Theatre in London. He played PC Balder, and was said by William Douglas Home, writing in The Daily Telegraph, to have proved himself “an admirable comedian with an enviable sense of timing”.

Ednam succeeded to the earldom on the death of his father in 1969. For a time he was chairman of British Federal Welder and Machine Co, deputy chairman of Baggeridge Brick Co, and a director of Tribune Investment Trust. He was president of the Staffordshire Society from 1954.

Dudley sat in the House of Lords as a Conservative. From 1973 to 1975 he was a member of the Lords Select Committee on European Legislation. His special interest was economics.

Stephen Ward, at the center of the scandal who had previously dated Maureen Swanson.
Lord Dudley married first, in 1946 (dissolved 1961), Stella (“Baby”) Cárcano, the daughter of the Argentine Ambassador in London; they had twin daughters and a son, Viscount Ednam, who was born in 1947 and now succeeds to the earldom and other peerages. Lord Dudley then married the beautiful film star, Maureen Swanson (a one time girlfriend of Stephen Ward), in 1961, and they had a son and five daughters.

His marriage to Maureen was tempestuous and stimulating but there is no doubt that the pair were devoted to each other, a tribute to his limitless courtesy and old school good manners, and her undoubted zest and charm.

In the early 1980s Maureen formed a friendship with Princess Michael of Kent and in 1982 they travelled together to the United States, but the friendship later soured. On such occasions Lord Dudley was inspired to write poetry and he duly produced a piece of scurrilous doggerel about the Princess. Soon afterwards, at a dinner at Lord Weidenfeld’s in March 1983, attended by Princess Margaret, he was pressed to recite it. Presently Princess Michael got to hear about the poem and complained. A solicitor’s letter was sent. Lord Dudley apologised and all (more strictly speaking, most) copies of the poem were destroyed.
This was not his only sortie into verse.

Maureen Dudley sued Alastair Forbes for libel when he rehashed the same incident in a review of Anne Somerset’s“Ladies-in-Waiting” (1984). Forbes was all for defending himself and boasted that he would open his case with the phrase: “I am [re]minded of the fact that the first time I saw the present Countess of Dudley was when she working as Stephen Ward’s receptionist in Wimpole Mews, Wigmore Street.” The case was settled but Lord Dudley penned another ode which contained the line: “In the end it’s Forbes’s meanness – that will be more use to him than his p----.”

In contrast he frequently wrote beautiful sonnets to his wife. Until her death in 2011, he and Maureen entertained a wide circle of friends at their Kensington home. Last year he sold the house and moved to the country.

The 4th Earl of Dudley, born January 5 1920, died November 16 2013

The Telegraph obituary of Maureen, Countess of Dudley which ran on November 25, 2011, provides the signposts of the snobbish social system that surrounds the aristocracy in the UK. Some of the “scandals” that are referred to in this dispatch -- matters which brought down a government and scandalized certain members of the upper classes (the lower classes involved were not considered surprising of course)  -- now seem mild, even harmless and mundane.  The scandals were almost entirely about extra-marital sex.

From the Telegraph of London, November 25, 2011.

The Countess of Dudley, who has died aged 78, was, before her marriage to Viscount Ednam, heir to the earldom of Dudley, better known to cineastes as the actress and dancer Maureen Swanson.
Maureen Swanson, later Countess of Dudley, in a scene from "A Town Like Alice," 1956, when she met Billy Dudley.
During the 1950s, Maureen Swanson, a “pocket-sized Venus” from Glasgow, was one of the bright hopes of the Rank Organisation, taking roles in such films as Moulin Rouge (1952); Knights of the Round Table (1953); A Town Like Alice (1956); The Spanish Gardener (1956, with Dirk Bogarde); and Robbery Under Arms (1957, with Peter Finch). On stage she played in “The Happiest Millionaire” and Dennis Cannan’s comedy “Who’s Your Father?”

Described as resembling a “physically alluring amalgam of Rita Hayworth, Jane Russell and Susan Hayward”, and tipped as “the next Vivien Leigh”, she appeared on the cover of the American magazine LOOK and was said to have been offered contracts by Howard Hughes and Errol Flynn as well as a screen test by Walt Disney. Rank, however, refused to let her go.

David Michael Mountbatten, 3rd Marquess of Milford Haven.
Charles Henry George Howard, 20th Earl of Suffolk, c. 1920s.
Like many young hopefuls of her generation, Maureen Swanson attracted the attention of the rich and titled and was courted by, among others, the Marquess of Milford Haven, the Earl of Suffolk, Lord Hanson and the King of Jordan.

“Miss Maureen Swanson,” ran one newspaper report in 1957, “is now on speaking terms with a fair cross-section of the aristocracy, including a viscount, a marquess and half a dozen dukes, and thanks are due to Viscount Ednam, Mr Billy Wallace and the Marquess of Milford Haven. All three are good friends of hers and over the past few weeks some of the most exclusive drawing rooms have been improved by her decorative presence.” Viscount Ednam, however, the reporter noted, “is the one peer that the lady will not talk about”.

Maureen Swanson declined to speculate on why the press was showing so much interest in their friendship, though the fact that the viscount, a member of one of the country’s richest families, was still married to (though separated from) his first wife, the former Stella Carcarno, daughter of a one-time Argentine ambassador to Britain, may have had something to do with it.

In 1961 Lord Ednam initiated divorce proceedings. Though, in court, he admitted adultery, the divorce was granted on the grounds of that of his wife. The decree was made absolute in less than four weeks. When the 41-year-old viscount married the 28-year-old actress a few days later, however, his father, the 3rd Earl of Dudley, refused to attend the ceremony, preferring to play bridge at his club. “He did not send any message of good wishes to Lord Ednam or his bride. He has no plans to see them,” his secretary was quoted as saying.

The bride arrived for her marriage at Amersham register office, reporters noted, in a “white grosgrain duster coat and a white tulle hat, accompanied by her Spanish maid carrying her pet Pekinese, Bubbles”.

After her marriage she forsook show business for domesticity. A first son was born prematurely , but survived only a few hours. She went on to have more children, five daughters then finally, in 1971, a much longed for second son, whose arrival made the front page of the Daily Mirror under the headline “It’s a Boy”. Lord Ednam succeeded to the earldom of Dudley on his father’s death in 1969.

The marriage had its ups and downs , but the Earl supported his wife through a series of libel actions as she fought to protect her reputation against assaults by the press and others.

These began in the 1980s and revolved around two of the Countess’s former friendships – the first, and more recent, with Princess Michael of Kent, and the second with Dr Stephen Ward, the “society osteopath” who became a central figure in the Profumo sex scandal that helped to bring down the Macmillan government.
Prince and Princess Michael of Kent
In 1982 the Countess had accompanied Princess Michael on a semi-official visit to the United States. Sometime after their return, however, the Princess’s solicitors threatened legal action after the Earl penned and circulated a wounding piece of doggerel which, among other things, alluded to her father’s Nazi links . The offending piece was widely circulated in society circles, finally coming to the attention of the Princess and other members of the Royal family.

The matter was resolved before it came to court by the Earl writing an abject letter of apology and agreeing to destroy all known copies of the ditty. But the story came to light in 1985 when the Earl’s letter was leaked to the Mail on Sunday.

The case reached the courts in the same year when the Countess won £5,000 in libel damages from the Literary Review following the publication of an article (a review of a book about ladies-in-waiting by Alistair Forbes), which, she claimed, had made her out to be a “greedy and vulgar woman” who had refused to pay her expenses on the trip with Princess Michael, and instead had furnished her husband with damaging “tittle tattle” for his poem. There had been no dispute during the trip, Lady Dudley maintained; indeed, Princess Michael had complimented her on her devotion and sent her letters and flowers.

In 1989 Lady Dudley won “substantial” damages from the publishers of “Honeytrap: the Secret Worlds of Stephen Ward,” by Anthony Summer and Stephen Dorril, in which the authors suggested that she had been one of the “popsies” whom Ward had procured for his influential friends. The book, according to her counsel, gave the impression that she was a “nonentity as an actress” whom Ward had picked from obscurity and “made his creature to be launched into society”.

Christine Keeler and John Profumo, the center of the great sex scandal in London in the early 1960s.
Lady Dudley admitted to having had an affair with Ward. They had become friends when he had been commissioned to draw her portrait in 1953 — 10 years before the Profumo scandal. “I was about 17 and I dated Ward for a year,” she recalled. “He was a very attractive, very dashing man about town.” They had later lost touch; at the time she knew him, there was no controversy attached to his name.

In 2002 the Countess again accepted substantial libel damages from the publishers of “Christine Keeler: The Truth At Last,” the former call-girl’s account of the events surrounding her notorious affair with the former war minister John Profumo, in which she referred to Lady Dudley as having been “one of Stephen’s girls”.

Maureen Swanson was born in Glasgow on November 25 1932. From childhood her great love was ballet, and she won a place at the Sadler’s Wells Ballet School. While she was there, her family emigrated to South Africa and she became the ward of Lady (Phyllis) Griffith-Boscawen, the widow of the former MP Sir Arthur Griffith-Boscawen. She was later selected to be a student dancer with the Sadler’s Wells Theatre Ballet company.

Her heroine was Margot Fonteyn, and she was eventually given her part in “The Haunted Ballroom.” She got good reviews but was devastated when Dame Ninette de Valois informed her that, in her opinion, she was a “personality dancer” who would be better suited to acting.

A ballet mistress who believed in her talent secured an audition for the juvenile lead in the musical “Carousel” at the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane. Maureen won the part, and was soon spotted by a talent scout who recommended her to John Huston, then busy directing Moulin Rouge. Soon she was playing her first screen role, as Denise de Frontenac opposite Jose Ferrer’sToulouse-Lautrec.

In later life Lady Dudley was often described as having been a “Rank starlet”. But she objected to the term, once sending a CV round Fleet Street arguing that she should be regarded as having been a “serious actress and a dancer”. In 1999 she sent one offender a poem, entitled RANKour, which began: “You’re a verbal varlet/To label me a Fifties starlet!”
The Dudleys with their daughter Victoria in 1989.
After marrying Lord Ednam, Maureen channelled her creative energies into interior design at the couple’s homes in London and Devon. The drawing room of her Devon house was once featured by House and Garden as one of “Britain’s 100 Most Romantic Rooms”.

Lady Dudley rarely gave interviews, and possibly had cause to regret granting one to Hello! magazine in 1996; a few days after its publication she and her husband were threatened by two knife-wielding burglars who broke into their London home, wrenched a diamond engagement ring from her finger and escaped after emptying the family safe of jewellery .

Lady Dudley explained that she had coped with the trauma by imagining she was in a scene from a film, “like something from a Hitchcock movie. It didn’t seem real. I could see the funny side.”

Lady Dudley is survived by her husband and children.

The Countess of Dudley, born November 25 1932, died November 16 2011
 

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Getting out in the nabe

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Looking across the haze of Central Park. 4:00 PM. Photo: JH.
Thursday, December 5, 2013. Bright, cloudy, not sunny day, yesterday in New York, with temps in the high forties, low fifties. Not warm weather and not freezing.

It was Wednesday, I went to Michael’s. I tell myself and others that I do this because it’s helpful in coming up with material for the Diary. This is true, It is also a habit, even a compulsive habit. It’s Dave’s chance to get out in the nabe. All my life, I’ve made a habit of going to one eating place or another, be it for lunch, for breakfast, for dinner.

It started in college where we all met at the campus coffee shop, where life began. It’s a kind of a security blanket maybe, where the surroundings and the faces are family, a community. All of these places are troves of all kinds of information – about the people, about other people, about local attitudes, opinions to the eternally curious. Tales from the past pop up, and the boy’s eyes are poppin’ while he sits in the middle of it, and takes it all in.

Christmas decorations are popping up all over town.
A lot of us are like this. It’s a front row seat at the Human Comedy, as well as an inside track on the vibe. Right now the vibe is deeply affected by, among other trenchant matters, the shorter days. My lunch partner reminded me of this natural meteorological phenomenon. For the next fifteen days, it will progressively get darker earlier. When I was a kid there was a lot of snow on the ground just about at this time. That affected the light too, and picked up the night sky. Of course here in the city the lights are on everywhere all the time.

Meanwhile, the Michael’s reservation list, jammed with busy people, out of towners, high mucky-mucks and media moguls as well as their editors, agents, designers and flacks. It was one of those busy Wednesdays where there is a lot of clatter and din. It was crowded and the holiday decorations – swags of pine boughs and big bright red ribbons – made it feel smaller, cozier.

Bonnie Fuller was at Table One with eight or ten men and women for one of Fuller’s luncheon confabs where she invites people who are involved in the media industry and actively affecting changes digitally, etc. I asked her why she did this regularly. She said it was a good way to meet and introduce people in other parts of the business; and to learn about what is going on and how it all is changing. All the time. Because tech means change, and media is at the center of it.

So now you know. A new kind of networking; a sharing of the wealth. Fuller’s guests were Adam Braun, William Launder of the WSJ; Ed Daman; Valerie Salembier, Asst. Comm. NYPD; Leslie Hall of IcedMedia; Caroline Waxler festival director of Internet Week New York; Jenny McIntosh; Jodi Applegate; Norman Pearlstine who came by and took a seat; and Penske Media Vice Chair, Gerry Byrne.
Bonnie Fuller and Gerry Byrne at one of their lunches in the bay.
Around the room: producer Beverly Camhe and her son, filmmaker Todd Camhe; Diane Clehane with public relations executive Dan Sheffey, and Donald Albrecht, curator of the current “Gilded New York” exhibition at the Museum of the City of New York. (See NYSD). Moving on: Cornelia Guest with Donnie Deutsch; Joe Armstrong, the Mayah with George Farias; Leonard Lauder with Ron Frasch; Herb Siegel with son Bill; Gloria Steinem with Alan Patricof and Bob Tobin; Wednesday Martin with Chris Pavone; Charles Stevenson; Connie Anne Phillips, publisher of Glamour; Peter Price with Joanne Lipman; Mickey Ateyeh with Deborah Buck who for years had an art, antiques and collectibles gallery “Buck House” on Madison and 92nd; Joanie Jakobson with Mary Murphy; Barbaralee Diamonstein-Spielvogel; Barry Diller; James Cohen former CEO of Hudson News; nearby George Green, former president and CEO of Hearst Magazines; Andrew Stein with Greg Kelly of Good Day New York; Robert Zimmerman; Lauren Zalznick, president of Bravo,  with her sis; John Needham of Clinton Global Initiative; Paul Manfort; Phillip McTaggart; and Joel A. Rosenthal and guest. Mr. R, known to the world’s rich and bejeweled as JAR, is the boy from the Bronx who conquered the French chic where his precious baubles are on display to the lucky ones to whom Mr. JAR deigns to sell. Mr. JAR’s work is on exhibition right now at the Met, an exhibition sponsored by some of the Lucky Ones.

Leaving Michael's, I walked up Fifth Avenue in the very heart of the high end emporiums. The sidewalks were very crowded. There was a lot of window shopping. Harry Winston is all aglow with the massive diamond displays wrapped around its marble townhouse on 56th Street. They’re not real diamonds of course but you get the idea of what’s inside that IS real. Then diagonally across the avenue is Tiffany & Company wearing this season’s faux façade, with pine boughs surrounding the door. And on the opposite corner, Bulgari has a gigantic diamond snake bracelet adorning its corner. Again, you get the picture.
Tiffany & Company wearing this season’s faux façade.
A New Yorker walks by a lot of this barely noticing, maybe something catching his or her eye. But a visitor, what we now call tourists -- something many of us have been formerly or long long ago -- sees the glorious illusions of glamour, and grandeur, and treasures that are universal yet uniquely New York to the entire world outside. I still remember the first time I saw Fifth Avenue as a kid of six or eight. It was beyond words, all thrills. Much of it remains in my memory’s eye, and I coveted it the way a kid wants a special toy. And a lifetime later, it remains as awesome.
I didn't notice the Bulgari snake change color (and gems). The photographs don't really convey their magnitude.
Then, back in the nabe of East End Avenue and thereabouts, the Christmas decorations are coming out as have the Menorahs placed prominently in lobbies and windows. No matter the weather, no matter the vibe, there is something else being introduced: light, bright, maybe joy. Good for all of us who partake. The lights have just gone up in the past few days.
Meanwhile back at the nabe, the decorations are going up. This was three consecutive terraces on 82nd Street and York Avenue.
And someone's flat along the avenue.
This is the local spectacular apartment house decoration on York Avenue between 81st and 82nd. They did this last year. The tree on the right always reminds me of a dog running.
And then there's the tree over the entrance. My camera doesn't convey the richness of the colors that add another element of excitement.
Back on East End Avenue, the tree in number 75's lobby.
And a neighbor who every year puts up their tree in that corner by the window every Thanksgiving. It also remains there longer than most. A warm touch.
And then in the lobby of number 85, and a wreath that greets you as you come out of the elevator.
The social calendar continues as the holidays approach. This past Tuesday night  was a two-fer for our former Secretary of State and former Senator and former First Lady, Hillary Rodham Clinton. Women for Women International (WfWI), a nonprofit organization dedicated to addressing the needs of women in conflict-affected countries, celebrated its 20th anniversary at a gala event at the American Museum of Natural History’s Milstein Hall of Ocean Life and honored Mrs. Clinton.

The gala raised $2.1 million to support the organization’s ongoing work around the world. Sheryl Sandberg, Chief Operating Officer of Facebook and Gala Honorary Chair, presented her with the Champion of Peace Award.
Women for Women International's gala event at the American Museum of Natural History’s Milstein Hall of Ocean Life.
The evening’s theme was: Stronger Women, Stronger Nations. Clinton spoke to the importance and impact of advancing the rights of women and girls around the world. 

“You cannot have real peace and security if you marginalize and exclude women,” she told the guests. “You cannot have decent, just societies if you abuse women. You cannot move on a path to democracy and open economies if you isolate and marginalize half the population. For some that was self-evident, others have had their eyes opened over the past 20 years.”
Sheryl Sandberg and Hillary Clinton.
Zainab Salbi and Amjad Atallah.
Isha Sesay.
Since 1993, dedicated to helping women affected by war and conflict rebuild their lives, WfWI annually enrolls more than 30,000 women in a yearlong education and training program. Its program is tailored to address the unique challenges women in each country face. These investments in marginalized and often-overlooked women have the potential to truly transform families, communities, and nations.
Hillary Clinton and Donna Karan.
Christiane Amanpour and President and CEO of Women for Women International Afshan Khan.
And then the same night, the Elizabeth Glaser Pediatric AIDS Foundation hosted its Global Impact Award Dinner Gala at the Best Buy Theater, celebrating EGPAF’s 25th Anniversary and honored Hillary Clinton --  this time for her leadership and courage in the fight against HIV/AIDS. 

EGPAF President and CEO Charles Lyons addressed the crowd of more than 300 philanthropists, corporate leaders, and advocates dedicated to creating an AIDS-free generation.  “To date, more than 1 million babies have been born HIV-free through the U.S. President’s Emergency Plan for AIDS Relief,” Lyons told the audience. “One quarter of those healthy births occurred because of the support of the Elizabeth Glaser Pediatric AIDS Foundation.”

Global Impact Award Recipient Hillary Rodham Clinton and actress Mary Steenburgen.
Nigel Barker served as the event’s emcee, Diane Sawyer presented Sec. Clinton with the Global Impact Award, a Lego representation of the iconic photo of Elizabeth Glaser and Secretary Clinton at EGPAF’s 1994 Kids for Kids event. The award was created by artist Nathan Sawaya.

During her speech at this event, Clinton recalled her friendship with Elizabeth and her tenacity in the fight to end pediatric HIV/AIDS. “Elizabeth was a loving mother, a devoted friend, and an eloquent, passionate, unstoppable woman who turned her personal loss into a public campaign on behalf of children with HIV/AIDS, founding this Foundation and inspiring so many of us to join the fight. In the past ten years, a quarter million babies have been born without HIV because of your work. So there is a lot to celebrate.”

Julianna MarguliesGloria Reuben, and Mary Steenburgen delivered readings from Elizabeth Glaser’s book, “In the Absence of Angels: A Hollywood Family's Courageous Story.”

Following Clinton’s remarks, Michael Feinstein and his 17-piece band performed songs such as “Luck Be a Lady,” and “The Way You Look Tonight.”  The cast members and band from the Tony Award-winning Broadway musical Fela! also performed earlier in the evening.
Diane Sawyer, President, EGPAF Board of Trustees Willow Bay, and Hillary Rodham Clinton.
Elizabeth Glaser cofounded the Pediatric AIDS Foundation in 1988 with her friends Susie Zeegen and Susan DeLaurentis, shortly after losing her daughter Ariel to AIDS. Elizabeth unknowingly contracted the disease from a blood transfusion during her pregnancy and also passed the disease to her son, Jake in utero.

Cofounder Susan DeLaurentis spoke and introduced a video of Sec. Clinton with Elizabeth titled Two Women Two Mothers Two Leaders. Elizabeth’s surviving son Jake also spoke on stage about his mother and the incredible legacy of her foundation, which has reached more than 17 million women with services to prevent transmission of HIV to their babies.  
Julianna Margulies.
Elizabeth Glaser Pediatric AIDS Foundation (EGPAF) is a global leader in the fight against pediatric HIV/AIDS, and has reached more than 17 million women with services to prevent transmission of HIV to their babies. It currently supports more than 6,800 sites in 15 countries to implement prevention, care, and treatment services; to further advance innovative research; and to execute global advocacy activities that bring dramatic change to the lives of millions of women, children, and families worldwide. For more information, visit www.pedaids.org.
 

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Manhattan travel drama

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Our first dusting. 6:00 PM. Photo: JH.
Monday, December 9, 2013. A grey, damp but cold weekend in New York, with a light snow arriving about five yesterday afternoon. Enough to cover the rooftops of cars. There were heavier snowfalls outside the city to the  south and to the west. Maybe we’ll have a white Christmas.

I’m not bah humbug by nature but Christmas doesn’t do it for me anymore. Not to mention I don’t “do it” for Christmas either. It took me a few decades to get over it, but I am. I do like seeing the cards I get because many of them are photographic records of families growing up/progressing.
The dusting was gone within an hour or two.
I definitely like the holiday for its therapeutic value: things quiet down on the social calendar. Observing the evolution has its joys, no matter what and it is a dream time for children, a lot of children, if not all children. The dream is big in my book. It is that from which all blessings flow for the most fortunate among us.

I also like all the Christmas decorations commercial and private. The lights give everything at this grey time of the year a lift. And Christmas is for kids, especially real kids (versus the Yuppies and the Gen X “kids”).

It is also the time for Giving. Again, for the children, and for the animals.  Giving is good for what ails you. It is a good time to remember that, and for the next couple of weeks I’m going to remind you.
A townhouse on the Upper East Side. It is notable to be only because I pass it frequently and there is almost always a light on and the curtain open, but no sign of life. Then Friday night I saw they were ready for the holiday season.
For example, I got a letter last week from Joan Garvin who runs the Metropolitan Maltese Rescue organization here. I’ve copied it below so you can read it.

You don’t need to favor or own a Maltese to understand the importance of helping. Anything you contribute – any amount – will make a big difference.

A lot of people buy pets as gifts. These sweet creatures are gifts to all of us, but not necessarily the right gift for someone who doesn’t want a dog or a cat, or doesn’t know how to care for it. What often happens after a period of (mal)adjustment, is the animal gets abandoned, thrown away, turned over to a shelter. Not a few get very badly abused by the jerks who were once the owners. Jerks is a gentle word to describe their vicious (and even at times criminal) behavior. Lowlife is a more apt perception.
However, there are a number of organizations who work 24/7 to help the animals and to (one hopes) find them good homes. I know Joan Garvin and her associates do this all the time for the little ones. Please help.

Friday afternoon I went down to Michael’s for lunch. I tend not to visit Michael’s on Friday’s mainly because I’d rather stay home. However, this past Friday Michael arranged for me to meet Christopher Knight and his partner Fernando Sarthou who live in Los Angeles where Christopher is the Art Critic for the Los Angeles Times. The reason for our meeting was simple and even a little corny: we both grew up in Westfield, Massachusetts and lived within a mile or two.

However, Christopher is nine years younger than I. I went away to college when I was 18 and never really lived permanently in Westfield thereafter, so there was never a possibility of our meeting at that point in our lives. Now, as it turned out, Christopher and Fernando are also friends of my apartment neighbor, personal friend, and Art Set columnist Charlie Scheips. They’ve known Charlie since his days in Los Angeles when he worked for David Hockney, who has his West Coast studio nearby Knight and Sarthou. Coinidentally I was living out there at the time, and although we all shared mutual friends and acquaintances, we never met.
Steve Millington, the GM of Michael's, came over and took this shot of our Friday lunch (that's a margarita pizza that I'm chomping on — couldn't wait. Christopher Knight is in the red and Fernando Sarthou on the right. Fernando is the reason for our meeting as he is a daily reader of the NYSD, every morning at their house on Mulholland Drive. He'd read in one of my postings of my hometown, which is also Christopher's. The empty plate in the middle of the table were three Korean Steak Tacos (very spicy and very addictive). The round table behind us in the bay is a group of the men (and one woman) who were originally responsible for the creation and management of HBO, celebrating their achievement and getting together again.
I wasn’t up for the idea of meeting only because it was Friday (the day off), but for strangers we had a lot to talk about and a lot of people in common as well as our native backgrounds and our shared affection for that great and beautiful and strange and wonderful place, Los Angeles. We left the restaurant at four.

Saturday night I went down to Birdland on West 44th Street to hear my friend Barbara Carroll perform on the keys, along with Jay Leonhart accompanying her on bass. This was their last day of this particular booking.  I think she Barbara returns to Birdland for a gig in February.

Barbara Carroll.
Barbara’s show started at six.  I left the apartment at 5:20. It’s a hike from way over East 83 and East End to 44th between Eighth and Ninth Avenues.

I got a cab right away. We took the FDR Drive from 79th Street to the 34th Street exit. That forty-five block trip is five or six minutes. The cabbie turned off the exit road at 38th Street, and headed west on 39th.

Therein lies the rub.  The ride across 39th Street from First to Eighth – nine blocks citywide – took one hour. The roads are clogged with parked cars, construction sites, and there is only single lane movement bumper to bumper, trucks, buses cars. I suggested to the cabbie that we cross Forty-second, but had vetoed the idea: the main thoroughfare is gridlock at that time of night.

It was quarter to seven (Barbara’s performance started at six) when we reached Eighth Avenue. The fare, with five dollar tip, was forty bucks.

Why didn’t I just ditch the cab after the first fifteen minutes, and get out and walk?  I thought about it. But when you’re riding in a car in the city you somehow think any gridlock is a very short, temporary situation. Actually I should have known better because I experience it all the time during the weekday.

I also had a dinner date at 7:30 on the Upper East Side. All of that – Barbara at Birdland at six, UES dinner at 7:30 seemed doable in the planning. After all, this is New York the town where you can get around. Oh, you think so?
The entrance to the American Museum of Natural History, Saturday night at 7 p.m.
When I got out at 39th and Eighth, it was too late to see Barbara. So I walked the three blocks up to 42nd and the subway and took the “A” train up to 81st Street and Central Park West. No gridlock in that neck of the woods. The American Museum of Natural History has topiary dinosaurs lighted and beribboned for the holiday. Good that I had my Canon with me. Then I caught the 79th Street crosstown bus and was back in my apartment at ten after 7.  

So ended my Manhattan travel drama. There are those who would argue that I would have been better off taking the bus and the subway. Good idea. A cab was too convenient an idea.

Later I had a very pleasant dinner with Joan and John Jakobson and Philip and Joan Kingsley who are in town from London for the week.

Kate KIngsley, the daughter of Joan and Philip, a prolific novelist whose new book for young adults is "Under the Mistletoe" which was published last month. Click here for more information.
Philip is the great authority on hair (care) in the world (www.philipkingsley.com). Many, including this writer, refer to him as the “hair doctor.” He and Joan cross the Atlantic every six weeks or so for him to meet appointments in his office here on East 52nd Street.

Many famous actors, actresses, public figures even royalty across the world visit him regularly for hair and scalp care and treatment. Losing hair, with both men and women, is a common occurrence, very common. In many cases Philip can stop the process through prevention and treatment. JH and his wife Danielle have both been clients. JH says the scalp massage is one of the greatest massages he’s ever had.

Also this past Saturday afternoon down
at Verdura they transformed their flagship gallery into a Winter Wonderful to host the launch party for Cathleen Smith Bresciani’s winter tale “Sassafrass Jones an the Search for a Forever Home.” A holiday book about the Little Dog with the Cat Eyed Glasses. Proceeds from the sale will benefit the Humane Society of New York.

Sassafrass is a “plucky, perky Pekingese with a delicate eye condition who befriends a lonelky fashionable milliner mouse named Madeline. The two  find each other and the courage to pursue their dreams. That word again: dreams.
Besciani created this book with Richard L. Eldredge, featuring more than fifty full-color beautifully detailed images by photographer Tomas Espinoza, and sets created by Christopher J. McClellan. The book also includes an Audio Book CD narrated by Fred Schneider of the B52s.

Verdura you already know about, founded in 1939 by Fulco, the Duke di Verdura, formerly a jewelry designer for Coco Chanel, Cole Porter and his wife Linda backed Fulco in his own business. Ward Landrigan acquired Verdura in 1985, and has kept it the treasure of glamour, chic, wit and sophistication that Fulco created.
Cathleen Smith Bresciani, Anne-Marie Karash, and Maurice Sassafrass Jones.Allen Grubman and David Greenbaum.
Fred Schneider, Mark Johnson, Chris McClellan, and Tomas Espinoza.
Wendy Diamond, Kelly Rutherford, and Jennifer Creel.Patrick McDonald.
 

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Like the kid

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The Empire State Building from Park Avenue South and 31st Street. 7:00 PM. Photo: JH.
Tuesday, December 10, 2913. Cold, rainy morning; dried off and got colder by late afternoon, yesterday in New York. The weatherman says we’re going to get some snow today. I hope so but I’m skeptical like any kid who loves those No-School-Days.

Last Friday in Washington, they had horrendous weather of rain and snow, but over at Q Street Fine Art on 2015 Q St. NW, they hosted an opening reception featuring the paintings of Peter Heywood. It was a very good opening for Peter who sold five pictures. The show which also features works by Rafael Gallardo, bronzes by Margaret Newton and sculptures by Guillermo Perdomo. The show runs through January. You can reach the gallery's owner Barbara Bennett at 202-255-2893.
At this time of the year, when I was a kid, the world was fraught with problems. They were all personal – my mother and father’s problems – and because I was living with them, they were mine. They seem inconsequential, irrelevant now, from this vantage point of age. And considering the problems the real world is facing right now. My mother and father’s relationship was fraught with problems, until they got old enough and tired enough to realize it didn’t matter. I don’t even know if they did realize it;  but it didn’t matter. Age will do that to you.

I was thinking about that last night when I took these pictures from my terrace of the Christmas trees in the lobbies of the buildings across the avenue. While trying to get a decent focus out of my little Canon S110 with the zoom lens, it occurred to me that I’ve always liked looking at Christmas trees. Like the kid.

This began very early possibly because our tree never went up before Christmas Eve. Ever. Duncan Wall’s parents across the street put up their tree about a week after Thanksgiving. It was covered with soft purple-blue lights – the only color. I preferred the rainbow of lights on a green tree although now the image of their tree remains in my consciousness and I see that the single color was rather stylish and even artful. For a little New England town neighborhood in the late 1940s. 

By the 20th of December, back then, all the houses in the neighborhood (the ones that I could see from the sidewalk) had their trees up – and often in the front window. Everyone except ours. And Mr. and Mrs. Merrill, two houses away. They had a wreath but no sign of a tree. The Merrills also had venetian blinds instead of shades like everybody else; and the blinds were usually pretty much closed most of the time.

Across the avenue, through the trees, the lobby tree.
And in the lobby of the building next to it.
East 73rd Street between Third and Second Avenues. The neighborhood wraps their trees in these lights and they remain so well into the winter. It's a great scene.
J. Vey Merrill was principal of the junior high school, and quite an important man in this kid’s view of the world. Perhaps more serious than most of us. That might explain their choice in not having a tree.

My mother said that the tree should always go up on Christmas Eve. I don’t know where she got the idea. I didn’t like it, but it was always thus. There was also the matter of the money to pay for it. Would they have it? I already knew this could be a problem. I knew this early.  I knew my father probably wouldn’t have it. He never had any money. Mother said he was a gambler and that was why. It later turned out to be partly true – he definitely was a compulsive gambler.

By Christmas Eve afternoon I would get more and more anxious about getting the tree. I was afraid there wouldn’t be any left. Any good ones, at least. Both mother and father would be still at work as I was fretting privately and probably dramatically. But as soon as one of them was in the door, I was asking: “what about the tree?”

I’m not sure how I presented it. Probably some whining. After all, I was just a kid (six or eight). I was genuinely worried; I wanted Christmas Day. Santa Claus (my eldest sister, my mother, and an aunt) would be putting presents under the tree. Yes, it was about me.

Finally, after supper (which is what we called dinner in those days), on Christmas Eve, with both mother and father, in the kitchen, the  8 year old in charge of management asked if we could “get” a tree. Now. It was the last day, after all.

My father displayed some anger (largely forgotten). That was a predictable response. The question was followed by a discussion between the two that soon became heated. I’m tempted to make a joke about it because it was simply the way we/they lived: always an altercation and a blasting outburst of his Irish temper, sometimes violent, always loud. Accompanied by her powerfully economic reproach. Followed by more helpless explosions.

I knew at that early age that it was senseless although at this age, I’ve seen enough of it in myself to know that it is not only senseless, but unfortunate. Nevertheless, it is. And I must say to their credit, we never, the boy that is, went without, at least when need be. That’s a pretty good achievement when traveling on a hard road to begin with.

However, that was the process we went through each year until I was old enough (teenager) to be preoccupied with growing up and getting out of the house. By then, my mother and father would be reprimanding me for not taking care of the tree.

Christmas for me, the individual, the son of, was always a wonderful time of the year, despite the day’s inevitable domestic drama. This day was full of excitement for the new, the changing, the seasons and the colored lights. Children have a special talent for absorbing this part of it naturally. All of those moments promise the best part of ourselves, and especially in the dear little and younger ones. It can protect them. It doesn’t take much either.

By adolescence in my mother and father’s house, the air remained fraught with their unresolved personal issues that affected everyone else under their roof. This is unfortunate but ordinary. And Christmastime is an especially difficult time for many of us who bring our Pasts with us.
A surprise gift from a friend delivered yesterday, from Alix Astir Trellis Fine Florals. 7 p.m.
I don’t fault my mother and father, in retrospect, for I can see they were, like all of us, victims of themselves/ourselves. “Their own worst enemy” was, and remains, the operative phrase. Their legacy of domestic turmoil – especially heightened during the holiday season – comes with riches, however: I was determined to always enjoy this time of the year, no matter what. And so it has been.

When I’ve lived in a house, I had a tree. A nice one, full and tall. In California with cathedral ceiling, the tree was 12 or 14 feet. In Connecticut, 8 or 9. In New York on East End Avenue, I don’t have a tree. I don’t especially miss it because it would only mean mischief for one of the quadripeds I live with – namely Madame; and I go to many houses and see many wonderful trees.

However, I also love all the trees I see through the windows and in the stores and the lobbies. All that light suggests to the child in me the possibility that the world will really be At Peace even if for a millisecond. I’m not naïve but I said possibility. Even for a moment.The trees are the symbol of that for me. Now more than ever.
One of JH's favorites on East 73rd Street.
 

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Colder by Nightfall

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Looking north along Fifth Avenue from 97th Street. 12:00 PM. Photo: JH.
Wednesday, December 11, 2013. Very light snow yesterday morning; didn't stick. Got a lot colder by nightfall which takes place about 5 PM.
Looking towards Central Park West from inside Central Park. 1 PM.
I planned to cover three parties last night. The first one, taking place at the Four Seasons restaurant, it turned out, is tonight ... not last night. So I was early for a change. But a little too early. It was 7 PM when I learned this, and I knew I'd never get a cab in this area, so I decided to walk to my next destination which was Fifth Avenue in the 60s.

Walking up East 52nd Street past the Seagram's Building, I came upon this wonderful city view. The trees are in the pools on the plaza of the Seagram's. This is a golden triangle of classic (now landmarked) architecture. On the lower left is the Racquet and Tennis Club, designed by Charles Follen McKim, formerly of McKim, Mead and White, and completed in September 1918. To its right is the Lever House, completed in 1952, designed by Gordon Bunshaft and Natalie de Blois of Skidmore, Owings and Merrill.
It was a sensation when it was completed because it marked the end of bricks and mortar on that part of Park Avenue and the beginning of steel and glass. New York was beginning its great post-War renaissance.

And we are looking at them from the plaza of the Seagram's building, designed by German architect Ludwig Mies van der Rohe with additional interior aspects designed by Philip Johnson which included the Four Seasons restaurant; completed six years after the Lever House, in 1958.

Interestingly the year the Racquet & Tennis was begun building, the city made a new law requiring all Park Avenue towers built thereafter had to be recessed from the street.
The Christmas trees fill the dual reflecting pools on the Seagram's plaza.
The Helmsley Building (built in 1929 as the New York Central Building), designed by Warren & Wetmore, the architects for the Vanderbilts' New York Central Railroad whose terminal occupied the southern side of the building.  It was then the company headquarters. It was later owned by the General Tire & Rubber company and then sold to Helmsley-Spear. Leona Helmsley renamed it the Helmsley. In 1998 it was sold to Max Capital for $253 million but with the stipulation that it remain the Helmsley. Eight years later they sold it to the royal family of Dubai for $705 million. A year later Goldman Sachs paid over $1 billion for it.
Walking north from 52nd. At 56th, on the northwest corner of the avenue, now under construction, “432 Park Avenue.” When finished, it will be the 3rd tallest tower in the United States. One World Trade Center will be the tallest. Rafael Vinoly is the architect. Harry Macklowe is the developer.  The site had been occupied by the Drake Hotel, built in 1928. Macklowe bought it for $440 million six years ago and demolished it.

Once upon a time in the 1960s at the height of the discotheque popularity (versus discos today), there was a fabulous nightclub in the Drake called Shepheard’s modeled after the legendary nightclub in Cairo, patronized by the Beautiful People and the International Set of the day providing what became the last gasp of glamorous nightlife in New York. (Studio 54 was the 11 o’clock Number).

The tree covered in red and gold bulbs and white lights is in the window of the Chinese Porcelain Company at 58th and Park.
The window of Renny and Reed Florists and Floral Designs on Park Avenue and 59th Street.   One of the Roberto Cavalli holiday windows on the northeast corner of 63rd and Madison. The red in the photo is a reflection of car brake lights.
Last night Susan and John Gutfreund held a reception for their friend Clarissa Bronfman, who is now designing her own line of jewelry. She told me she calls the line “Tolerance.” The pieces can be worn together, separately, as bracelets, as necklaces, as single pins.
Clarissa Bronfman and her “Tolerance” collection.
Clarissa demonstrates the varied use of her pieces with the necklace that she is wearing. She's been working on this for less than a year. Her business is called Symbol Tree. Her website isn't ready yet but you can learn more about her shows by emailing her: cab@symboltree.com.
Susan Gutfreund.The Gutfreund tree at the foot of the staircase.
A planter filled with holiday blossoms.
Leaving the Gutfreunds, I walked over to 825 Madison at 69th Street where Dennis Basso was hosting a cocktail reception to celebrate the grand opening of his new flagship townhouse. Big crowd, as you can see.
The Basso bonanza.
The DJs discuss.
Renee Rockefeller with Dennis Basso.Mark Gilbertson, Polly Onet, and Martha Glass.
Interior designer Laura Hunt in town from Dallas, with her hostess, Cynthia Frank, a features editor with Elle Décor. I took the second picture with the flash after telling them to stop posing and get a little lively. Huh?
The Donna Karan store. The blue in the photo are reflections of the lights across the avenue.
I love this picture for a lot of reasons. It's the holiday card for the Humane Society. It comes with the following message from the Humane Society's president Virginia Chipurnoi: "Dear Friend, Please help us care for a dog or a cat in need. Your contribution, large or small, will help to underwrite veterinarian care for a sick or injured animal in our Clinic, for a pet who brings affection and comfort to a lonely elderly person on a very small income. Or it could help feed, medicate, and neuter a dog or cat in our Vladimir Horowitz & Wanda Toscanini Horowitz Adoption Center. If you have a well-loved pet, think of all the homeless animals who long to have the same good fortune. By supporting our Animal Emergency Appeal, you will be helping a disadvantaged one whose life needs may be small but who depends on your generosity for its survival."
Kippy (the dog) was adopted from the Society on October 16, 1995. The following Spring Kit Kat appeared at the door and was adopted by Kippy. Photo donated by advisory Board Member Peter Simon, who lived with Kippy and Kit Kat. www.petersimon.com.
I am currently sharing a home with Mr. Byrone who came to stay from the Humane Society several years ago. Several years before that, we had another full-time resident named Teddy. Both boys came from hard times and thanks to the Humane Society, both made it to a comfortable, warm and healthy home where they share a lot of love and affection. Always good for what ails ya.

The Humane Society of New York
306 East 59th Street, New York 10022
(212) 752-4840
www.humanesocietyny.org
This past Monday night at the Ainsworth on West 26th Street, The Board of Directors and Friends Committee of New Yorkers for Children (NYFC) hosted a Wrap to Rap, presented by Valentino USA benefitting youth in foster care.

Committee members and special guests including Wendy Kahn, Dayssi Olarte de Kanavos, Lauran Tuck, Ayla Farnos, Allison Aston, Marisa Brown, Clare McKeon, Susan Gilroy, Susan Burden, Dana Auslander, Brian Mazza, Eric Brettschneider, and Susan Magazine, among others, joined more than 50 teens in foster care to wrap 1000 gifts for younger children in care. DJ D-Nice spun hip hop and holiday classics. The wrapped presents will be distributed by the Administration for Children's Services to children in Foster Care throughout New York City.
Clare McKeon, Dayssi Olarte de Kanavos, Natalia Echavarria, and Marisa Brown.
Besides providing much needed holiday gifts for children in need, Wrap to Rap also serves as a reminder to teens in foster care of the importance of volunteering and giving back to their communities. In fact, New Yorkers for Children is the direct result of "giving back" by Nicholas Scoppetta who was once a child in foster care and learned from experience that challenge it presents to all children, and the needs to be filled to help these children succeed in meeting those challenges.
Tory Hines and Mary Massey.Allison Aston.
Dana Auslander and Lauren Tuck.Eric Brettschneider and Susan Magazine.
 

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You can feel the energy of the upcoming holiday

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Bottom left (in white), Claire Mercuri; from left (under the red suit painting -- by Michael's wife Kim McCarty), Catherine Adler, Felicia Taylor, Linda Lambert, Vanessa Eastman, Margo McNabb, Terry Allen Kramer, Kathleen Turner, Somers Farkas, Mia McDonald, and Dorothy Carvello. Today is the 40th birthday of Mrs. Eastman (12/12/13). No doubt she is aware that she shares that day with among others, the Chairman of the Board, The Voice, Frank Sinatra who was born on this day ninety-eight years ago in 1915. Click here to read Frank Sinatra In Memoriam.
Thursday, December 12, 2013. Early winter cold out there on the streets of New York yesterday. Getting colder, very heavy traffic everywhere. You can feel the energy of the upcoming holiday.

Wednesday it was Michael’s and there was that energy I’m referring too. I was having lunch with my friend Dr. Cheryl Karcher who is also my dermo with Sadick Dermatology at 911 Park. I don’t go to her for cosmetic procedures, in case you’re wondering; although I’m sure there are a lot of men who do. I go to her when I’m wondering about that spot on the back of my shoulder or wherever, and is it ...? So far it’s been what she calls a barnacle. (Age.)

However, I planned to ask Cheryl about her business because I know so many women who get cosmetic touchups fairly frequently. It’s phenomenal to me but ordinary, every day to a lot of people.

I was at dinner a couple of weeks ago seated next to a woman I’ve known since the Sixties. I reminded her of this fact, and then, looking at her, suddenly I added: “You look exactly the same!” She smiled and said, “Yes. Botox.”  My friend started to laugh; it was true. I was surprised. We went on to more important subjects but it was interesting because she looked great.
DPC and Dr. Cheryl Karcher at Michael's.
Well, what I did learn from Dr. Cheryl yesterday is that there are so many things, so many techniques employed today to remove the telltale wrinkles that record time. I asked her about these girls (women) who get all kinds of injections that, rather than enhance, magnify to the point of looking like they had something done.

Cheryl said there were two things that happened there. One, the person thinks she looks great; and Two, everybody who knows her is saying “did you see what she did to herself?”

Dr. Karcher says all of that is avoidable and it’s her job to keep the client informed and aware. Other than that, the conversation turned to the room yesterday because the place was really jumping.

The birthday in the bay.
Margo McNabb was having a holiday luncheon on Table One for eleven friends, and celebrating the birthday a day early, of Vanessa Eastman. In the group: Claire Mercuri, Catherine Adler, Felicia Taylor, Linda Lambert, Terry Allen Kramer, Kathleen Turner, Somers Farkas, Mia McDonald, Dorothy Carvello. Right next door to us on one side, Matthew Rich was lunching with the great Martina Navratilova (yes!) and Eva Roosevelt. On the other side of us our incoming Police Commissioner Bill Bratton with his wife Rikki Klieman were lunching Anne and Arnold Kopelson, in from Los Angeles; and next to them: Joe Armstrong with David Zinczenko; and in the corner, Charles Grodin, Phil Donahue, Regis Philbin and Henry Schleiff. And next door: Herb Siegel. Across the aisle, Dr. Gerry Imber, Jerry della Femina and Andy Bergman.

Around the room. Jimmy Finkelstein, Michael Del Giudice with Kate McGinty who has announced she is running for Governor of Pennsylvania in 2014; Peter Brown; Barry Frey; Cathie Black with Donna Lagani; Julie Macklowe with Amy Rosenblum; Star Jones, Euan Rellie, Mitch Kanner;  Joan Gelman with Dan Sheffy; Michael Wolfe with Martin Purs, Mike Murphy and Jay Cross; Susan Magrino with Scott Rohm and Andrew Turner of Baccarat Hotels and Resorts (Baccarat is opening a new hotel next year); Kay Pick, in from Los Angeles; Jon Diamond; Diane Clehane; Vin Cipolla of the Municipal Arts Society.
The crowd, beginning to thin out (it started at 5 p.m.) of the book party last night for Seymour Lachman's new book "Mr. New York, Lew Rudin and his Love For the City." Click to order.
Last night at the Four Seasons restaurant there was a book party for “Mr. New York; Lew Rudin and His Love For the City” by Seymour Lachman. Lew and his brother Jack, sons of Mae and Samuel Rudin who started the real estate dynasty that is famous among New Yorkers today. The brothers carried on the tradition and principals of their father, and established the family as major contributors to the culture and the philanthropies of the city.

I’d known Lew from the early 70s as his daughter Beth and I have been friends since that time. As the family business prospered and grew over the decades (they were famous for never having a mortgage on any of their buildings as well as owning the first building their father bought early in the 20th century), the Rudins took increasingly active interest in the health and welfare of the city.
Lew Rudin's son Bill Rudin holding his father's biography.Beth Rudin DeWoody, Lew Rudin's daughter.
Lew was a man who never forgot his roots. He walked among the rich and powerful in the corridors of power and indeed, he could be considered one of them, but he never lost the common touch. And boy did he love New York. He loved going anywhere in the city and might easily fell into recalling the changes a neighborhood has seen, in awe of it all. He was also a man who cared about his tenants as if they were his own family. This is not only rare but borders on the unbelievable. But it was so with Lew. His generosity and patience with the ups and downs of people’s financial lives remains remarkable to this day. He was no fool, but he was always a friend.

This was the party I thought was Tuesday night and went to the restaurant for it. As it happened it was originally called for 6 and then later moved up to five, so that when I got there at quarter to seven I’d missed many of the prominent New Yorkers who came by to greet the family and get a copy of Lachman’s book.

Lew was the man who promoted the “I Love New York” campaign. The block of East 52nd Street where The Four Seasons is located is now also officially Lew Rudin Way.
Debbie Bancroft, Robert Zimmerman, Bill Bratton and his wife Rikki Klieman, and Jonathan Capehart.
Diane Coffey, Pam Delaney, and Ellen Futter.
Andrew Klink and Joanne Cassullo.
After leaving the Four Seasons, about ten to eight, I walked up Park Avenue for several blocks and, like the night before, over to Fifth Avenue, where Jeff Sharp and Doug Steinbrech were hosting a Holiday cocktail party at the home of their friend Chris Brown. I got there about an hour and a half into the party so many had come and gone before me. I hadn’t been to Chris Brown’s smart and elegant penthouse overlooking the Park. I immediately went out onto the terrace to get some shots of the views – which are stupendous.

Unfortunately I cannot convey with my camera how exciting and wondrous and awesome is the sight of the city on a cold December night. As you can see the Arsenal Building on 64th Street and Fifth Avenue, just inside the Park and home of the Central Park Zoo, is lighted for the season. The building was completed 162 years ago in 1851.
Looking at southwest border of the Park – Central Park South, the twin towers of Time Warner on Columbus Circles, with the Trump tower on the immediate right and then 15 Central Park West.
The view to the northwest across the Park to Central Park West.
The Arsenal, built in 1851.
The Christmas Tree at the Brown residence.
A couple of clever guests about to leave. I don’t recall what I said as I was taking the picture, but this is what I got. Leslie Stevens and Di Petroff. Maybe it was something in the ginger ale they were drinking.
Passing the Roger Vivier store on Madison Avenue and 66th Street, the green in the shoes caught my eye, and then I saw the silver. The camera doesn’t transfer the color very well, probably because of the strong window lights, but emerald and silver shoes and bags on Madison looked site specific in this New York Holiday Season ...
... So I stopped across the street to get a shot of a window in Giorgio Armani.

We're in New York now, classic New York.
Tuesday night at Cipriani 42nd Street, the Animal Medical Center hosted their annual TOP DOG Gala where they honored legendary journalist Barbara Walters with the distinguished Brooke Astor Award. A special tribute was made to Rosie and Clarence, Police Dogs with the Greenfield, MA Police Department — recognized as the nation's first office police comfort dogs for "First Responders."

The TOP DOG Gala, which this year raised $1.5 million to benefit The Animal Medical Center (AMC), historically honors both an individual for their commitment to the human-animal bond as well as Service dogs.
Awardees Rosie and Clarence and their owners Lt. Will Gordon and Police Officer Laura Gordon.
Rosie and Clarence provide support to "first responders" in critical incidents, including Newton, CT and the Boston Marathon, as part of their official duties with the Greenfield, MA Police Department. To this day, these dogs continue to offer their support to first responders suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) resulting from these tragedies. Their owners, Lt. Will Gordon and Police Officer Laura Gordon were inspired to start a small nonprofit organization called Canines Helping Autism and PTSD Survivors (CHAPS).

Mary Hilliard was there recording the event with her camera.
Barbara Walters with Rosie and Clarence and their owners..
Kathryn Coyne and Bobby Liberman with Rosie and Clarence and their owners.
Henry Kissinger meets another diplomat.
Ken Langone.
Melanie Holland.
Doggie decor by David Monn.
Guests taking their seats.
Lisa McCarthy, Isaac Mizrahi, and Nathalie Kaplan.
John Rosselli, Judith Landrigan, Bunny Williams, Emilia Saint-Amand, and Ward Landrigan.
Henry Kissinger, Barbara Walters, and Nancy Kissinger.
Isaac Mizrahi and Robert Couturier.
Fernanda Kellogg and Kirk Henckels.
Emilia and Pepe Fanjul.
Barbara Hoffman and Janet York.
Oscar and Annette de la Renta.
Jim Greenfield and Ene Riisna.
Nicole Seligman and Joel Klein
Emilia Saint-Amand and Shayne Doty.Jackie Weld.
Lisa and David Schiff.
Mercedes Bass.
Party favors for pets.
And while we're on the subject of our wonderful animal friends, all love bugs, Geoffrey Bradfield sent us this collection of feline/canine duos: "Every Dog Should Have Their Own Cat."
 

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The weekend weather

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Driving down Fifth Avenue on the way to La Grenouille, Saturday night, 8 PM. Photo: Jeff Hirsch.
Monday, December 16, 2013.  The weekend weather was the story in New York. The weatherman forecast a big storm covering something like a thousand miles.

It was heavier elsewhere, and the “storm” didn’t arrive in New York City until Saturday morning. Although the weatherman had us bracing for it well in advance. Weather is more and more a major distraction in our lives. I’m not sure if it’s a phenomenon or just part of aging. In a way it’s almost a relief from the anxieties created by the news of the world. It reminds that there is something far far bigger than our worldly selves. I do remember extreme weather when I was a kid growing up in New England. And as far as snow is concerned, I remember more than one wintertime walking down the middle of Park Avenue (while others were on skis) in the winter.
Saturday, mid-afternoon on the Upper West Side ...Photos JH
Maybe this winter coming up (officially beginning next Sunday) will be another one of those. Back in the mid-90s, we had one winter where it seemed to snow daily, and the white stuff accumulated into great mounds of snowbanks with only narrow paths for walking in some parts of the city. Most memorable about that winter was how it slowed everybody down, and seemed to calm them down too. People took their time because they had to. So it was rather lovely all around. At least for those of us who had warm shelter.

Meanwhile, the weather flacks beat the drums and we awaited this thousand mile storm coming from the Midwest. On the map on Accu-weather which I might check mindlessly several times a day, it was fascinating to watch it move West to East. into the Northeast, with a thousand mile rain storm simultaneously heading toward us North from the deep South.
Saturday, mid-afternoon on the Upper East Side (Central Park).
Saturday morning there was a light, almost floating snow flurry. It was cold out but the roads were wet so it wasn’t sticking. Mid-mornng there were three major sanding plows stationed in the next block, as if waiting for their assignments in the city. It didn’t look like they’d be necessary for at least several hours, if at all.

I took this first picture about 1:30 Saturday afternoon when it began to look as if the snow would stay and maybe accumulate. That’s snow falling, not fog. It was now more than a dusting, but it didn’t seem like blizzard-proportions.
Saturday afternoon on East End Avenue, 1:30 p.m.
Same location six hours later.
Saturday night I was going to dinner at La Grenouille with JH and his wife Danielle, and his mother-in-law Kathleen. The reservation was for 8 p.m. Recalling my traffic gridlock a couple weeks before when the weather was clear, I planned to leave a half hour early for what is usually a ten or fifteen minute ride to 52nd and Fifth on a Saturday night. The big traffic is gone by that time of day – with the exception of this specific time of the year when the great Christmas tree is on display at Rockefeller Center only three blocks from the restaurant.

This night the problem was getting a cab on East End. But it turned out not to be. I got one in less than five. His meter was off. He told me it was broken. I believed him at first and then it occurred to me that because moving around was going to be a slow process (slippery), he thought he could make a few extra bucks. He quoted me a price: about 30 – 40% above what it would normally be on the meter (for that distance). Naturally I accepted; I was grateful to have a cab. He was a very careful driver too – another plus.
The menu at Le Grenouille.
I arrived at La Grenouille at exactly eight. The JH party was coming from exactly the opposite side of the island. They had to come through the Park and were slightly delayed but not by much. The restaurant looked to be about half-full. I was surprised that there was as big a crowd. I asked Charles Masson if he’d had many cancellations. He said: almost none. Although he did have some “confirmations” for reservations never made. La Grenouille is such a desirable destination for a exquisite Saturday evening dinner that many know it can be hard to get a table without booking well in advance. By 8:15 we four were at table and within minutes the entire restaurant was full.
The flowers.
After we placed our orders, the captain asked if we’d like to order a soufflé. The choices presented: chocolate, lemon, Grand Marnier.

JH asked if they could do Pistachio. Of course. We ordered one chocolate and one pistachio. For dinner, Danielle had the Mushroom Risotto (Le Risotto aux Champignons) and the famously perfect Dover Sole. Kathleen started with the chestnut soup with lingonberries (Velouté aux Marrons, Crème Fraîche aux Airelles) and had the Beef "Tournedos" with Chestnuts, Brussels Sprouts and "Salmis" Sauce (Tournedos de Boeuf en Salmis, Marrons et Choux de Bruxelles) as her entree. JH had the Lobster and Tarragon Ravioli (Les Ravioles de Homard à l'Estragon) and the Dover Sole. While I had the Whole Roasted Organic Chicken "Grand-Mère" with Thyme, Bay Leaf, Bacon, Pearl Onions and Potatoes (Le Poulet Rôti "Grand-Mère"). I love their endive salad as a starter. It’s ample and tasty and satisfying preparation for the main course.

Everything was excellent, as was the atmosphere, the flowers, and the room, with its singular luminescence.
Le dessert: Chocolate and pistachio soufflé.
When we were finished and ready to leave about eleven, so was much of the clientele. No longer snowing outside, it was raining. Hard. And cold. The streets were slushy, and and a rushing stream of melting snow was flooding the curbsides. I left the party on foot, heading East hoping to find a cab that was available. I had an umbrella. I caught a cab at 54th and Park; not a long slog as it turned out. Traffic on the avenue at that hour was very busy if not heavy. The roads were icy with snowtracks forming on the sides, but I was home in ten minutes. A great night in Manhattan.

Sunday morning, about 11, I took this last picture of East End Avenue where the snow had begun to accumulate 24 hours before.
Sunday morning, East End Avenue, 11:30 a.m.
 

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Grim and barely festive until nightfall

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Signs of Christmas. 2:00 PM. Photo: Jeff Hirsch.
Wednesday, December 18, 2013. Light snow in the morning, no-stick; cold and grey and slushy wet, with more light snow into the late afternoon. Dark by five, the full moon on its rise occasionally beaming through the clouds; yesterday in New York. Grim and barely festive until nightfall.

Midtown traffic is heavier, as to be expected. Despite the yucko weather under foot and the brrr cold in the air, the sidewalks on Fifth Avenue are jammed, including many tourists in for their New York holiday season fix. The citydwellers themselves are in the midst of anticipation.
When you live in New York long enough you get used to the land of constant parties. Whether you’re invited, or you just hear about them or even read about them, it’s true, there are hundreds, even thousands of parties, and especially at certain times. This one’s the biggest, bigger even than Halloween. I’m not trying to be ironic. And it offers something else, something needed by all of us at the end of ever quickening year.

The hosts with the most: Stephen Henderson and James LaForce.
Parties are a major part of the New York life. That is not to say everyone’s off to a party, at least not like this character. But they are integral in the commercial life in this center of the world’s commerce. They evoke the excitement that many of us feel living in this extraordinary city of dreams and schemes, of genius and elsewhere. There’s always a possibility that cajoles the imagination before you, and it motivates the invited to become a guest.

Monday night there were several I heard about  (not necessarily invited to) in the city. Some of them come with an annual reputation. When I hear about them and am invited, I’m tempted. The problem is geographical. For example, on Monday James LaForce the public relations guru (LaForce & Stevens) and his partner Stephen Henderson give an annual “come one, come all” at their Chelsea loft.

Charlie Scheips
, who writes Art Set on the NYSD, loves this party. He left his apartment extra early so he could be there for the very beginning. Evidently they’re practically beating down the doors to get in. Sounds good, no? LaForce and Henderson have kindly invited me more than once but I’ve never got there for one reason or another. I’ve been told (by Charlie) it’s mobbed from Moment One, and stays that way right to the end (9 p.m.).

Obviously the booze flows liberally and no doubt the nibble-dee-doms are excellent and abundant. Messrs. Henderson and LaForce have been a domestic couple for a long time and not coincidentally they draw a big gay crowd among their guestlist. This enhances for everyone: people are looking good and  prospering or looking to prosper and that draws the rest of the gang.

The same night up at the Sherry-Netherland at Doubles, George Farias and Anne Hearst and Jay McInerney (Mrs. and Ms.) co-hosted their annual Christmas Cheer. This is a great party and never a disappointment when this trio is staging it. The hosts are good friends and each bring their particular friends and interests to the punch bowl.

It’s a very diverse group that is New York – social, literary, media, business, banking and everything else in between that Manhattan submarine sandwich.  Many of the guests see old friends, new friends, ex-spouses, grandmothers, grandsons, best selling novelists, restaurateurs and trapeze artists (figuratively speaking).

Wendy Carduner, the directrice of Doubles, really lays on the Christmas decorations and the buffet tables are the closest thing to royal, appealing to the healthiest appetites the sweetest seekers. I tend to stay away from the Doubles buffet and dessert tables because you can find yourself just hanging around and filling your face and ignoring everything (and everyone) else.

There must have been three or four hundred who came through the club’s red silk staircase passage. By the time I arrived (after 7), people were already going on to other parties – including a birthday dinner for Frances Schultz (Mrs. Tom) Ditmer at a nearby restaurant).

There was a Santa, as you can see, and photo ops for one and all. Although he bore only a passing resemblance to those days when your mother and father took you to the local department store to meet Santa Claus when it was the seminal experience meeting a Star -- for no greater one could have existed to us three/four/five and six year olds. Well, this night’s Sandy Claus was fun albeit comparatively perfunctory to our first meeting the man with the reindeers.

Nevertheless Farias, Hearst and McInerney made a great evening for (large) handful of New Yorkers who were full of good cheer (as well as grog and grub and even an earful here and there). The mood was up and that’s always good. I was using my Canon frequently trying to get a photo-impression of the room.
The lobby entrance to the subterranean private Doubles club got up for the holiday season.
The receiving line ...
Entering the party ...
R. Couri Hay, Wendy Carduner, Santa, and George Farias.Melissa and Chappy Morris.
Richard and Marcia Mishaan.Peter and Jamee Gregory.
Zang Toi and Georgie Badiel.Milly de Cabrol.
Sharon Sondes blows a kiss to our former mayor while Andrew Stein greets Mrs. Giuiiani.
Patty Raynes, Roger Waters, and Paul Williams.Peter Pennoyer and Mark Gilbertson.
Alejandra Cicognani and Lisa Fine.Sharon Sondes and Valesca Hermes.
Annette Tapert.Amanda Hearst and Sharon Bush.
Lady Sondes hides behind her minaudière.
Judy and Archibald Cox.Carol Mack from the back.
Simon Pinniger and Carolyne Roehm.Robert Zimmerman and Debbie Bancroft.
Glenn Horowitz and Tracey Jackson.
Peter Rockefeller, Felicia Taylor, and Allison Rockefeller.Alina Cho.
Alison Mazzola, Rob Wiesenthal, and Courtney Davis.
Jim Dunning, Susan Magrino, and Nina Griscom.Will and Laura Zeckendorf.
Santa and the gals.
Donna Tartt.Robert Zimmerman and Anne Hearst McInerney.
The infinite dessert and hors d'oeuvres table ...
However, my photo-diary aside, Patrick McMullan was there and in his subtle way he captured photo images of the entire party. These are Patrick’s lens at work. You can order one of your favorites. I don’t know the price or the sizes but you can find out easily by emailing, and Patrick aims to accommodate your requests ...
Jay McInerney, Anne Hearst McInerney, and George Farias.
Mary Hilliard and Valesca Hermes.Ellen and Chuck Scarborough.
Nicole Miller, Jeff Eldredge, and Mary Boone.
Annette Tapert Allen, Baroness Milly de Cabrol, Countess Elisabeth de Kergorlay, Valesca Guerand Hermes, and Sharon Bush.
Lisa Jackson and Bettina Zilkha.Bruce and Teresa Colley.
Bruce of Doubles.
Karin Luter, Chris Meigher, Judy Gordon Cox, and Chip Conlan.
Jeffrey Slonim, Liliana Cavendish, Hunt Slonem, and Emily Rafferty.
Christopher Mason and Ivana Lowell.Dr. Carter Pottash and Leslie Stevens.
Michelle Herbert, Anne Hearst McInerney, Muffie Potter Aston, and Alexandra Lebenthal.
Wendy Carduner, George Ledes, and Jeanne Lawrence.
Charlie Krusen, Sessa von Richthofen, and Dr. Carter Pottash.Kelly Rutherford and Jennifer Creel.
Joanne de Guardiola, Roberto de Guardiola, and Peggy Siegal.
Louis Bofferding, Victoria Amory, Alex Papachristidis, Nathalie Kaplan, Alison Mazzola, and Scott Nelson.
Chuck Pfeiffer, Lisa Crosby, and Richard Johnson.Monica Crowley, Herb Siegel and Jeanne Siegel.
Peter Pennoyer and Katie Ridder.
Jeff Eldredge, George Farias, Elizabeth Paton, and John Studzinski.
Don Burns, Sharon Sondes, and Geoffrey Thomas.
Ken Auletta and Amanda "Binky" Urban.Paul Williams and Jay McInerney.
Tiffany Dubin, Ivana Lowell, George Farias, Kathy Rayner, and Susan Gutfreund.
Sandy Golinkin and Lisa Fine.Hartman Benson, Santa Claus, and Steve Benson.
Taki Theodoracopulos, Christina Oxenberg, and Prince Dimitri of Yugoslavia.
Kristen Crusen, Charlie Crusen, Richard Farley, and Chele Ciavacci.
Ann Barish, Cornelia Bregman, Sharon Sondes, and Loraine Boyle.
Jonathan and Somers Farkas.Nicole Sexton and Debbie Bancroft
Tad Flynn, Santa Claus, and Alison Mazzola.
Jonathan Becker, Pat Birch Becker, and Bill Becker.
Rob Wiesenthal and Tiffany Dubin.Harry and Laura Slatkin.
Minot Amory and Earle Mack.
Chip Conlan, Patty Raynes, Diandra Douglas, Teresa Colley, and Bruce Colley.
Laura Zeckendorf, William Zeckendorf, and Susan Stroman.Leonel Piraino, Nina Griscom, Katherine Boulud, and Daniel Boulud.
Prince Pierre d'Arenberg.
Alexandra Lebenthal, Muffie Potter Aston, Somers Farkas, Santa Claus, Margo Catsimatidis, Michel Herbert, and Andrew Stein.
Steven Stolman, Santa Claus, and Richard Wilkie.
Andrew Stein, Margo Catsimatidis, and John A. Catsimatidis.
Santa Claus and Darren Walker.
Caroline Dean, Mark Gilbertson, and Sandy Golinkin.
Gigi Benson, Santa Claus, and Harry Benson.
Will Cotton and Rose Dergan.Craig F. Starr and Beth Rudin DeWoody.
Raymond Buckler.
Marina Galesi, Santa Claus, and Francesco Galesi.
Santa Claus and Grace Meigher.
Bob O'Leary, Santa Claus, and Paul Johnson.
David Patrick Columbia, Jeanne Lawrence, Santa Claus, and Susan Gutfreund.
Diandra Douglas and Cornelia Bregman.Alexandra Kotur and Joanne de Guardiola.
Dominique Browning, Lora Zarubin, and Anne Hearst McInerney.
Karl Wellner, Santa Claus, and Deborah Norville.
Marcia Mishaan, Santa Claus, and Beth Rudin DeWoody.
Peter and Allison Rockefeller with Santa.
Sloane Crosley, Santa Claus, and Marshall Heyman.
Neal Guma, Jay McInerney, and Donna Tartt.
Michelle Paige, Santa Claus, and Charles Atkins.
John Mazzola, Santa Claus, Sylvia Mazzola, and Alison Mazzola.
Santa Claus and Pamela Fiori.
Amy Fine Collins, Santa Claus, and Alex Hitz.
Karin Luter, Rudy Giuliani, Santa Claus, Judith Giuliani, and Don Burns.
Santa Claus and Carol Mack.
Santa Claus and Natalie Kaplan.
Santa Claus and Laurie Durning Waters.
Patrick McMullan, Amanda "Binky" Urban, and Ken Auletta.
Louis Bofferding, Alejandra Cicognani, and Earl Mack.
Helen Lee Schifter, Rob Wiesenthal, and Courtney Davis.
Carol Campbell Boggs, Bill Boggs, and Richard Johnson.
Evan Sidel Pepper and David Salle.
Dr. Patrick Stubgen, Santa Claus, and Dana Hammond Stubgen.
Ron Delsener and Jim Signorelli.
Roger Waters and Gary Fisketjon.
Victoria Amory, Tom Quick, Santa Claus,and Minot Amory.
John Studzinski, Santa Claus, and Bill Rudin.
 

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On the sunny side of the street

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85th Street between Columbus and Amsterdam. 2:30 PM. Photo: Jeff Hirsch.
Thursday, December 19, 2013. A cabbie told me yesterday afternoon that the temperature is going to be 68 on Sunday. At that moment it was about 38, the night before it was 24. I immediately wondered if that meant we wouldn’t have a White Christmas. Awww.

Wednesday, it was Michael’s. For those who can’t stay away, it was a big day. It was also the last Michael’s Wednesday this year. Next Wednesday is Christmas and the following is New Year’s. And then we make resolutions and start all over again.

Bill Bratton and Rikki Klieman.
I was lunching with Rikki Klieman, who is known to the world for her frequent appearances first on Court TV,  and now on CBS This Morning as a legal analyst. She is also well known in New York and Los Angeles as the wife of Bill Bratton, the newly appointed Police Commissioner under incoming Mayor Bill de Blasio.

Mr. Bratton has previously served as Commissioner of the Boston Police Department; once before in New York (1994-96) and Chief of the Los Angeles Police Department from 2002 to 2009.  The Klieman-Brattons married in 1999. They’ve had a social profile in New York since day one. We’ve been in the same room together numerous times although I’d never had a real conversation with them.

I say that only because they’ve always been a “couple” in my perception – versus a single (Mr. Big and the Little Woman, etc.). It occurred to me as I was writing this that that “perception” of mine, of them, is probably the result of a very dynamic duo. Because what I learned at lunch is how full both their lives are with their own personal responsibilities and objectives.

Because Rikki Klieman is nothing if not dynamic. We’d known each other on a “hi” basis for some time, but never to have a conversation. Several weeks ago we were seated next to each other at a dinner at Shirley Lord’s. That led to this lunch. This is one of the wonders of New York – the constant connecting.

She’s a fascinating lady. Forthright, upfront; a girl from Chicago. Born into very modest circumstances, she went to Northwestern where she majored in theatre, then to law school at Boston University, then on to an appointment as assistant DA for Middlesex County (Mass.); then joining a law firm in Boston, then starting her own private practice. I could just see her in the courtroom; no kidding.
DPC and Rikki Klieman at Michael's.
She told me she and Bill Bratton had known each other professionally up there in Boston – both had made a name for themselves in the legal/law enforcement community. But both were always busy and otherwise married. Their meet-cute (it’s like a movie with Rosalind Russell and Cary Grant— okay, or Hepburn and Tracy) ... the K-B’s “meet cute” was actually here in New York on very early morning breakfast at the Regency Hotel (the major power breakfast restaurant). He was at one table; she next door. Their individual hosts knew each other. Hello-hello; Oh hi. Cards exchanged.

She says now that she knew then and there, except  although he did call soon after, between the two of them with schedules so thick with obligations, the date kept getting put off. Finally months later, he asked her last minute if they could meet for drinks at 10 p.m. at the King Cole bar in the St. Regis that night. Sophisticated, low key and smart. Okay; that would work.

The happy, hard-working couple in Los Angeles.
She said that the hour itself made it different, and she knew then when she walked into the room that she was on the wings of fate. (my words, not hers, but you get the picture).

I don’t know how long after they married but it sounds like the movies ever since – they both lead very busy individual lives. His jobs are the primary circumstances because they involve the community. She, as a lawyer, not only gets it but thrives on it. When Mr. Bratton was chief of the LAPD, for example, Mrs. Bratton aka Ms. Klieman involved herself in charities assisting those in the community who needed the most attention, the poor, and the children. She knows about poor; that was her own heritage, and so she knows about the children too; that’s the heritage of all of us if we care to think about it.

I wasn’t really surprised to learn about the industriousness and the go-forwardness of Rikki Klieman. You can see just from watching her in a room full of people that she has a lot of energy, and that it motivates her to seek and pursue. She also loves her work and her interests. There’s a strong sense of certainty of purpose there. We didn’t discuss her husband’s work and interests because that’s his business. But her business; that’s her essence.

I don’t know how we got on the subject but she told me just as we were paying the check and getting ready to leave, that when she first woke up in the morning as a very small child – living in categorically very modest circumstances – her mother would ask her what she was “grateful” for as she started the day. To this day, many years and many chapters later, when she gets up in the morning, about 6:30 and goes to the bathroom to get a drink of water, the first thought that comes to her mind is What she can be grateful for on that day. Life; living; full.
Rikki Klieman on CBS This Morning.
Michael’s was celebrating yesterday. At the baaah (that’s Boston for bar): those New Jersey girls, Kira Semler and Vi Huse. Semler and Huse, old friends come into New York on Wednesdays for a variety of objectives including the theatre (and shopping) but often make their first destination Michael’s on Wednesday lunch. They always sit at the bar where they can take in the whole scene and do it without seeming like they’re watching (you can’t help it though).

And whom did they see? A lot of magazine people, for one. Connie Ann Philips, Publisher of Glamour; Gerry Byrne of Penske Media; Harper’s Bazaar’s Liz Molina; Vicky Rose, Publisher of Us Weekly; Ann Fulenwider, the new Editor-in-Chief of Marie Claire. She was with Huma Abedin, Hillary Clinton’s right hand.

Dah Boyz.
Charles Koppelman was lunchingwith Scott Ross, former CEO of Martha Stewart Enterprises. In the center of the room, Dah Boyz: Imber, della Femina, Kramer and Bergman; Tom Goodman of Goodman Media; Sara Beth Shrager; Scott Greenstein, President of Sirius Satellite Radio.

Around the room: Dini von Mueffling with Bettina Zilkha; Ralph Destino Sr.; PR guru Jaqui Lividini; David Sanford and Lewis Stein; Fern Mallis with LaVelle Olexa; Katherine Oliver, outgoing (with the Bloomberg Administration) commissioner of the Mayor’s Office for Media and Entertainment; the beautiful Maureen Reidy of the Paley Center; Glenn Horowitz; Peter Gregory; Elihu Rose; Bruce Mosler, President of Cushman Wakefield; Martin Bandler of SONY/ATV; Andrew Stein with Danielle Schriffen; Michael Berman; Monica Corton; Francine LeFrak of Same Sky.

In the Garden Room, Jean Shafiroff  was giving a private holiday luncheon for twenty-four friends and associates including Prince Dimitri of Yugoslavia,Jeanne Lawrence (of Shanghai Social Diary); Ann Rapp, Norah Lawlor, Geoffrey Bradfield, Erik Bottcher, Hunt Slonem, Randi Schatz, Barbara Tober, Jamie Figg, Larry Kaiser, Chiu-Ti Jansen, Liliana Cavendish. Lucia Hwong Gordon, Craig Dix, Amy Hoadley, Carole Belladora, Patricia Shiah, Couri Hay, Felicia Taylor, Chele Chiavacci. Margo Catsimatidis. Paola Rosenshein and Tom Gates.

 

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Still hoping for a White Christmas ...

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Looking south towards the Manhattan skyline (Citigroup Center in middle) from a barren Central Park. 3:30 PM. Photo: Jeff Hirsch.
Friday, December 20, 2013. Very warm for the third week of December in New York, ten minutes after midnight, the day before the Winter Solstice. The weatherman says this next of the woods is going to get even warmer before the weekend’s out. That’s okay; I’ve even got the terrace door open as I write. However, I’m still hoping for a White Christmas (implying the jolly Ho Ho Ho! returning to our lives for no matter how brief a moment.)

This is a moment when New Yorkers are sharing cocktails dinners with friends and neighbors in each others’ houses and apartments and restaurants. For the NYSD, we’re in the catching up mode.

Gael Greene's many hats.
For example, last Monday night at Stella 34 Trattoria at Macy’s, overlooking the Empire State Building spire, there was a roast and toast staged by the culinary and philanthropic communities joining the Citymeals-on-Wheels gang along with the just plain foodies to ... celebrate Gael Greene on her 80th birthday.

“I don’t know how this happened so quickly,” said the “Insatiable Critic,” which was her moniker for forty years in New York magazine before they up and fired her, and she moved her critiques to insatiablecritic.com.

“One evening I was forty and disco-dancing and all men were 26, and then the next ... this frightening big number!” 

As she was speaking, two towering chocolate birthday cakes, each marked “40,” were being rolled out into the room. No one in the felt frightened, probably even the birthday girl herself.

Gael Greene is one of the most prolific and productive writers of her generation here in New York. She’s written seven books, including two best-selling (erotic ) novels, plus a memoir, not to mention her hundreds and hundreds of “Insatiable…” columns and other articles.

She started her journalism career at the New York Post in 1957 when it was the fiefdom of Dorothy (Dolly) Schiff, a forward thinking progressive woman who let her sentiments be known in the press. Greene’s memoir, “Insatiable: Tales from a Life of Delicious Excess,” documents the 40 year revolution in dining that she was documenting weekly in New York Magazine, the hottest weekly New York magazine of the era. Writing as the anonymous critic she could raise the hackles and flatten the soufflés of even the iciest of restaurateurs with her words.
Gael Greene blowing out her candles.
However, even they were deeply touched  when this critic and the beloved American chef James Beard co-founded Citymeals. This is one of the things about New York, as gigantic and multi-cultural as it is: it’s a small town when it comes to getting to the neighbors.

The idea for the project came to Greene in November 1981 when she read a Times article saying that government funds delivering weekday meals to the city’s frail, aging shut-ins did not cover weekends or holidays. Unwilling to accept that reality, she  called James Beard who agreed and, with Barbara Kafka, they made a round-robin of calls to food world friends raising $35,000 over the weekend. That following Monday, offering to deliver the money to Janet Sainer, then Commissioner of the NYC Department for the Aging, Greene demanded that not a dime be deducted for a phone call or a stamp. Sainer agreed.
Gael Greene and Santa.
That was more than 30 years ago. Since its inception, Citymeals has delivered more than 47 MILLION nutritious meals to homebound elderly New Yorkers. One little idea one moment’s thought about another, a neighbor, a friend, led this extraordinary achievement.

This is philanthropy spelled out in spades. No ego, no hoopla, no one even thinks of this monument to good works of Gael Greene (and James Beard et al) as anything but functioning, hardworking individuals with a cause. But isn’t it the Zen conclusion to have looked after the needs to hundreds of thousands of neighbors and members of the community? Gael Greene, one woman with an idea, did this.
Drew Nieporent.
Andrew Dornenburg and Karen Page.
Robert S. Grimes.
Meanwhile, back at bday party, in lieu of gifts of things she might personally enjoy -- like emerald earrings, or  a crocodile clutch, or even recycled cologne -- guests were asked to consider delivering meals to the city’s frail aged shut-ins in Greene’s name. By Monday, several thousand meals had already been donated.

Among those attending the Big Birthday Bash were Kathleen Turner, Hasty and Jacques Torres, Gail Sheehy, Deana and Stephen Hanson, Fran and Barry Weissler, Drew Nieporent, André Soltner, Alain Sailhac, Margo MacNabb Nederlander and Jimmy Nederlander, Ninah and Michael Lynne, Ruth Finley, Zarela Martinez, David Rockwell, Tren’ness Woods-Black, Karen Page and Andrew Dornenburg, Michael Tong, Judy and Stanley Zabar, and Tim and Nina Zagat.
Chef Daniel Boulud.
Kathleen Turner.
Marcia Stein.
With Nick Valenti and the Patina Restaurant Group as hosts, guests were greeted with cocktails, and passed tastes from Stella’s Italian menu, and a walk-around dinner. Greene loves this kind of set-up. I was at a walk-around dinner that Daniel Boulud gave when he was opening one of his restaurants across from Lincoln Center. I watched her enjoying the partaking, a culinary hedonist (and probably them some) through and through.

At the dinner the other night Boulud, Co-President of the Citymeals-on-Wheels Board of Directors, remarked, “Gael Greene is Citymeals’ foundation and soul.  Tonight, we celebrate her insatiable influence on many generations of chefs, foodies and critics. But, most importantly we celebrate the valuable contributions she has made to Citymeals-on-Wheels over the past 30 years.”

That 100% donation principle remains the guiding foundation of Citymeals-on-Wheels. This is New York, and this is Gael Greene, still a kid at eighty – as it ought to be. Long may she live and spread her bountiful thoughts among us.
Scott Black, Tren'ness Woods-Black, and Aliyyah Baylor.
Dennis Riese and Beth Shapiro.
Also, last week, on a Wednesday, the Child Mind Institute hosted their 4th annual Child Advocacy Award Dinner at Cipriani 42nd Street and raised $6.6 Million for the Advancement of Children’s Mental Health and Brain Research.

Meredith Vieira emceed and they honored Ram Sundaram,Pasko Rakic, MD, PhD, and Child Mind Institute Families.
Dr. Pasko Rakic, Director of the Yale University Kavli Institute for Neuroscience accepts his award from Brooke Garber Neidich, Board Chair, Child Mind Institute. Award designed and donated by Michael Aram.
Ram Sundaram, Brooke Garber Neidich, Board Chair, and Dr. Harold Koplewicz, President, Child Mind Institute.
Mr. Sundaram, who is a partner at Goldman Sachs, was the recipient of the 2013 Child Advocacy Award for his foundational philanthropic contributions to children's mental health and the growth of the Child Mind Institute. Dr. Rakic received the 2014 Distinguished Scientist Award in recognition of his outstanding contributions to developmental neuroscience. Both the 2013 Child Advocacy Award and the 2014 Distinguished Scientist Award were designed and donated by Michael Aram.
  
These critical funds allow the Child Mind Institute to continue providing life-changing mental health care for children, pursuing scientific breakthroughs, and expanding public education and outreach efforts.
Ellen Wiesenthal is honored by her grandchildren Annie Cohen, Richard Wiesenthal, and Andrew Cohen.
The evening celebrated the stories of families who have struggled with these disorders, most notably a six-year old girl joined by her parents who spoke movingly about their daughter's journey to overcome selective mutism.

The evening concluded with a hugely successful auction, led by Al Roker. The Child Mind Institute was founded by Dr. Harold Koplewicz and Brooke Garber Neidich. It all started with an idea with a couple of can-do New Yorkers – like Gael Greene’s – about how to help thy neighbors. The commitment for the founders was to find  more effective treatments for childhood psychiatric and learning disorders and empowering children and their families with help, hope, and answers.
Dr. Harold Koplewicz and Anne Keating, SVP Public Relations and Corporate Philanthropy, Bloomingdale's.
Dinner chairs included: Elizabeth and Michael Fascitelli, Debra G. Perlman and Gideon Gil, Brooke Garber Neidich and Daniel Neidich, Linnea and George Roberts, and Stephen M. Scherr.

Additional Benefit leadership and guests included: Christine and Richard Mack, Amy and John Phelan, Rula Jebreal-Altschul and Arthur G. Altschul, Jr., Mark Dowley, Julie Minskoff, Valerie Mnuchin, Claude Wasserstein, Jane Rosenthal, Eva Jeanbart-Lorenzotti and Lorenzo Lorenzotti, Joella and John Lykouretzos, Juliet de Baubigny and Javier Macaya, Dawn and Mark Ostroff, Coralie Charriol Paul and Dennis Paul, Danyelle and Josh Resnick, Wendy Svarre, Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio, Kay Unger, Stephanie Winston Wolkoff and David Wolkoff, Roger Waters, Desiree Gruber and Kyle MacLachlan, Frederic Fekkai, Ellen Wiensenthal and Jason Silva.

To learn more about the Child Mind Institute visit childmind.org.
Al Roker, Meredith Vieira, Brooke Garber Neidich, and Dr. Harold Koplewicz.
Meredith Vieira with the Bloomingdale's and Child Mind Institute Holiday Gund Big Little Brown Bear.
Jason Silva and Dr. Harold Koplewicz.Roger Waters.
Linnea Roberts, Michael Fascitelli, and Ram Sundaram.
Kyle MacLachlan and Desiree Gruber.
And to close, at the source and sources of all great things. H. Mabel Preloran Ph.D, a Research Anthropologist at UCLA Center for Culture and Health Semel Institute for Neuroscience and Human Behavior, put this together and calls it, "DNA test not necessary."

Photographs by Alan Barnett (Gael Greene)
& Ann Billingsley (Child Mind)

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The weather was the weekend topic

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Christmas trees for sale on Broadway and 84th Street. 2:00 PM. Photo: Jeff Hirsch.
Monday, December 23, 2013. The weather was the weekend topic. It was forecast beforehand that it would be a very warm  weekend for the first day of Winter. The transition began on Friday, an ehh day — sunless, mild, and surprisingly quiet in the City.

I took pictures. I don’t know why I’m so obsessed with this kind of thing – pictures of the same site over and over. It’s two, three days before Christmas Eve in New York and it looks like ... this.
Saturday morning on the East River looking south. The man leaning against the fence was taking a photo. The brightness seemed like an introduction to the warmer weekend temperatures that had been forecast.
Saturday afternoon along the avenue; very quiet.Saturday, sundown, the shortest day of the year, looking South toward the pink herd of Magritte clouds.
JH was on the Upper West Side taking advantage of the unseasonably warm weather ...
Then there were the refuse entrepreneurs. The man who used to show up across the avenue every Friday at 1 PM wasn’t there. A young woman (Hispanic) has taken over the station. I’m fascinated by these individuals, as you may have read before. They are taking the bull by the horns, and out there and doing what they have to do to get where they need to get. It used to be called “doing what it takes.”

This young woman is, as you can see, well and adequately, and even fashionably  dressed for this (or any other) task. I noticed her sitting on the doorstep of the apartment building with her shopping cart and her plastic bags. She was waiting.

Ten minutes later, the black metal gate of the building next door banged open, and one of the super’s staff started tossing rubbish bags onto the sidewalk. When it was a bag of bottles or cans, he tossed them her way.
She’s wearing gloves. She must be young — in her early twenties maybe — because she moves — and especially “bends”— very quickly and with the automatic agility of youth. She went through each bag with a quickness that articulates focus, very fast, and saving each empty bag with many others in another bag. This went on for almost a half hour.

I went back to my desk for ten minutes and when I returned to the window, she was gone. I was thinking about “where” she was going with her acquisitions — just rubbish, by definition. I had planned go to down and give her a small contribution, in another words, a vote of confidence, but I missed the opportunity.
My mother often had to work on Christmas Eve. This troubled me greatly when I was a little boy. It still gets to me when I think of it. Not only did I want her to be home, but I felt bad that she couldn’t be at home. However, she always came home, of course, and not really at a late hour, and so I was relieved of that particular holiday anticipation angst.

My mother had to be out working wherever she was working, to provide what I was at home and waiting for. I knew that at the time, at a very young age. I never don’t think of my mother when I see these women out there collecting cans and bottles, sheer back-bending labor at all hours of the day and night, eeking (and that is the word for it) out a few dollars to keep the wolves from the door and the mouths fed. And where would I be had not one of them done that for me. And what is Power, and what is Life.
Which brings me to the present. Christmas. It was the night before Christmas and all through the house .... When I was that young boy I knew all those lines and went to bed thinking them, saying them to myself. Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. I remember as a four-year-old hearing Santa’s boot hitting the snowy step late in (what must have seemed to the kid like) midnight. Christmas — the time, the day, is really for the spirit of the very young. It is a matter of Refreshment.

For the rest of us it’s a respite if at all possible — and that is a gift. But the children are still fresh in this absorbingly confounding world of ours. Christmas is glory and light and wishes, and dreams are necessary. Children are equipped to give it its all. Watching that rather chicly dressed young woman collecting her booty on Friday afternoon on East End Avenue, I was thinking of how, somehow, she was going to deliver that to her children. Who could ask for anything more.

Except for the animals. They too must be remembered and revered and respected for all the love of Christmas that they provide for us everyday of our lives.
Friday night East End Avenue.
 

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Christmas and holiday cards from friends

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The world's first commercially produced Christmas card, designed by John Callcott Horsley for Henry Cole.
Wednesday, December 25, 2013. Merry Christmas. It got colder in New York last night — just the way Northeasterners would expect it to be on Christmas Eve — with snowflakes in the air if not on the ground. The city was quietly busy as many New Yorkers were traveling in the city, going to each others’ houses and apartments to celebrate the event. Today is the day we report on those best wishes and good cheer, with a look at some of the holiday cards that come our way.

A little history: The Christmas Card was first commissioned in 1843 in London by a man named Sir Henry Cole. By the late 1840s, Queen Victoria began sending “official” Christmas cards.

The first Christmas cards were printed and sold in America were made by a British company, Prang and Mayer, in 1874. It was a hit and a tradition was born! Mr. Prang, who is credited by many as the inventor of the Christmas (or holiday) card, soon had a lot of competition which eventually drove him from the market.
This painting shows Queen Victoria's Christmas tree at Windsor Castle in 1850. In her journal entry for 24 December, the Queen wrote 'At a little after 6 we all assembled & my beloved Albert first took me to my tree & table, covered by such numberless gifts, really too much, too magnificent'. The presents she received included a watercolour by Corbould, oil paintings by Mrs Richards and Horsley, four bronzes, and a bracelet designed by Prince Albert which included a miniature of their daughter Princess Louise.
When I was a kid, seventy-five years after Mr. Prang created the market, Christmas cards usually had religious messages (especially those sent by the more religious — Christian, that is — among us), or old-fashioned scenes, such as people riding down a snow-covered lane in a sleigh pulled by a horse decked out in bells (“sleighbells ring, are you listening, In the lane, snow is glistening, A beautiful sight; we’re happy tonight, Walking in the Winter wonderland.”) That song, along with Jingle Bells, evoked the feeling of Christmas in America mid-20th century. It also presumed what was then natural for this time of year: a snow-covered environment.

Today, the Christmas card, now really the holiday card, is mainly about us, and that is for many, no matter their religion, the fun of the tradition. In America more than one and a half billion cards are sent each year. And now with the internet, cards are coming to us digitally. In fact some are included in this year’s collection.

Over here at NYSD, Jeff Hirsch and I wish everyone a very Merry Christmas and a Happy, Happy Holiday.









































































































































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Weekend Vegging

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Looking south along West End Avenue. Sunday, 4 PM. Photo: Jeff Hirsch.
Monday, December 30, 2013. Cold and raining hard in New York from late Sunday morning until the time of this writing (mid- evening). It was a snowless Christmas here, as everybody knows. It was probably a good thing for a lot of people who needed to get around.

This writer took it easy. Vegging you could call it, except I don’t turn on the TV. Instead I do errands, straighten up the place, brush the dogs, do the laundry, water the plants now indoors for the duration, read the papers (mainly the online versions) and the latest book. And, a lot of nothing. It’s four o’clock in the afternoon and I find myself just sitting there not thinking of anything other than the fact that I’m just sitting there. Or just looking out the window and watching (what little of) the world going by. 

These last few days I’ve been in bed by midnight, and once even before (which is almost like a first for me). My mother used to say (when I was a kid and whining about having to go to bed) that “every hour before midnight” is the best for a growing boy.
Saturday afternoon vegging in Central Park. 2:00 PM. Photo: JH.
I can’t remember at the moment, but I might have written this before about sleep. At a dinner one night a few months ago, the conversation came up about sleep. Martha Stewart asked me how much sleep I got. I said, “not much, maybe six hours.”

She said something like: “that’s a lot,” (I didn’t think so), sounding like I was pampering myself. I asked her how much sleep she got. “Four to five hours.” I can believe it considering how much she does in a day but she always looks very rested. Maybe it’s the makeup? I dunno.

Meanwhile, Barbara Walters was in on this conversation. She got very little sleep too. For me not for her. Meanwhile my friend Alice Mason who celebrated her 90th this year, hits the hay about 6:30 – 7 and sleeps for almost twelve hours. She says she loves it; and Alice ran as long and as hard as both those aforementioned girls, and Alice is looking great. It made me think of my mother and her frequent aphorism.
Saturday afternoon, the East River was smooth and quiet. It was cold with a soft chill wind and on the river there was this single sailor making its way south to the harbor.
I took this shot just to see what it might feel like out there on the water. Like it felt up on the Promenade: very cold and brrrr ...
I was wondering what their Christmas was like. I'd bet this was the best part of it, cold and all -- just look at the magnificence of their tininess in relationship to the metropolis surrounding them.
This was such a quiet weekend that I didn’t go to dinner at all until last night when I dined with JH and his wife Danielle and Danielle’s mother Kathleen. Christmas Eve was the last of the busy nights. I started out at the annual Christmas Eve party given by Gay and Nan Talese (and co-hosted by their daughters, Pamela and Catherine). This is a big party – at least a hundred guests pass through. There are lots of hors d’oeuvres and a big buffet. The guestlist is made up of all kinds including many writers (since Gay Talese is a long time bestselling author and Nan is an editor with her own imprint at Random House.

I was there for only about a half hour as I had to go on to another dinner but despite my conversations with a couple of old friends I hadn’t seen in a while, I did see Judy Collins and Louis Nelson, Tony Danza, Jill Krementz, Bartle Bull and  David Margolick. I was in and out early. I’m sure within the first hour there were more than a hundred congregating and steeped in conversation (and gnoshing), and I don’t doubt many stayed for hours. The Mayor made an appearance in the second hour.
Nan Talese and daughter Pamela at the beginning of their party on Christmas Eve. When I see this face I think of the voice that goes with it: quiet, melodic and friendly. It reflects the beauty you can see in the face.I met these two ladies when I arrived at the Taleses. Ann Weil (left) is a writer and children's book publisher who lives in Walpole, New Hampshire. She was visiting her friend Dina Pinos (right), also a writer. We were discussing an idea I had for Dina and the NYSD which you'll have the chance to read one of these days coming up.
I went over to John and Susan Gutfreund’s for their Christmas Eve dinner. Susan is one of the consummate hostesses in New York. And what do I mean by that? All of her guests feel comfortable and familiar immediately. Furthermore the entire mise-en-scene is pure luxury including the relaxing vibe.

And the Gutfreund apartment is one of the most spectacular (while also being sink-in-comfy— see NYSD HOUSE) in New York with a wonderful view of the southern end of Central Park.

There were sixteen or twenty at two tables, starting with a cold borscht with crème fraiche. The Gutfreunds have a weekend house outside Philadelphia in Villanova. There is a local Amish Farmer’s Market nearby where Susan stocks up on their extraordinary quality of produce and poultry. After dinner and dessert, guests moved next door to the Winter Garden Room, a gift to his wife by Mr. Gutfreund and designed by the legendary Henri Samuel.
The Winter Garden Room. It was a gift to Mrs. Gutfreund from her husband, designed and executed by the legendary Henri Samuel. It adjoins the dining room.
These are poinsettias that Mrs. G. found at the Amish Farmer's Market she goes to weekends in Pennsylvania.
The Christmas Tree.
Susan at table checking a list. The silver and glass tureen at the center of the table is filled to the brim with Hershey's Chocolate Kisses.
My place setting.
It was about quarter to eleven when I was the first to excuse myself. Susan led me to the coat room so that I would be sure to take a favor she’d had prepared for her guests. A “ball” of evergreen with Christmas bulbs, a ribbon and some mistletoe. Perfect for the chandelier in your foyer. However, I have neither. “Where will I hang this?” I asked my hostess innocently. “Hang it from your bathroom shower if you haven’t anyplace else,” she said sensibly.

And so I did. I rather like it – a little Yuletide spirit in bathroom. Cheers up the place.

It’s been that kind of long holiday weekend; lovely and never-too-long.
Even the butter got the holiday treement.The Christmas Eve dinner favor for the guests to take home. Mine hangs festively and elegantly in my otherwise ordinary bathroom.
 

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The Day Before

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Park Avenue in the 50s. 10 PM. Photo: Jeff Hirsch.
Tuesday, December 31, 2013. New Year’s Eve. Cold out, and getting colder, according to the weatherman, and we might even get some snow tomorrow.

The city is quiet, as I reported yesterday. A cabbie told me a lot of people are out of town for the long holiday period. Although I went to have lunch with friends at the French Roast on the West Side at 85th Street and Broadway and you’d never know from quiet in that part of town.

A lot of clatter and chatter, the West Side neighborhood is there. French Roast is a bistro and the food (breakfast anyway) is very good. So is the service. And the noise level is pure Noo Yawk. It’s also where JH grabs a bite of grub when he takes a break from the NYSD. The West Side – at least along Broadway from the 60s to the 90s, is not quiet. It’s bustling.
A Christmas tree inside and a reflection of a tree outside. Photo: JH.
There is nothing comparable on the East Side under these holiday circumstances with the minor exception of the crowds gathered around the Metropolitan Museum between 79th and 84th Streets on Fifth. It’s the reason I like to go over to the West Side on Saturdays – the neighborhood crowds.

I made that trip for the second time this week yesterday afternoon to pick up some things at Zabar's – including some caviar, some blinis, some whitefish pate and some crème fraiche. Tonight I am going to dinner with some good friends at Swifty’s – on the very early side – and then I’m finishing off the night at home with three very old friends with whom I’ve spent New Year’s Eve for decades (or at least when I was living on the East Coast).

I also bought a few bottles at Sherry-Lehmann of some very reasonably priced (in other words, cheap, French champagne called Lucas Carton (car-tone). I learned about Lucas Carton last year and tried it out on my guests who were all well-versed in champagne (usage). They thought it was wonderful too. It reminds me of the champagne that you get in France which you can drink like water and never worry about the next day.

Henry Bushkin's Johnny Carson. Click to order.
As reported, there is very little going on in New York on the social calendar except for the thousands of private parties all over town. However my friend Jim Mitchell did have a little dinner at his favorite Italian restaurant Primola (on Second Avenue between 64th and 65th Street) for his friend Henry Bushkin, the Beverly Hills lawyer who has written a kind of memoir about his friend and client, the late Johnny Carson.

As wonderful as the man was to watch on the “Tonight Show," there was behind that image a man who could be a nightmare to deal with. Stories about Carson were rife back in the 80s when I lived in Los Angeles. He was very “powerful” in the way that power is acknowledged in the entertainment industry. He brought in a huge late night audience for decades, and big big revenue for the network. He also made a fortune himself.

I’m reminded of the last time his predecessor and the man who “chose” him to succeed him, Jack Paar, appeared for the last time as a guest on Carson’s show. It was not long after Carson had divorced his third wife Joanna who reportedly got a $30 million settlement. On the show, Carson asked Paar if he ever “regretted” quitting the show (which is exactly what he did after several years). Paar thought about it for a second and replied: “I regret that I didn’t marry you.

That line, which got a big laugh incidentally, was not entirely off-the-cuff. Paar was an obsessive professional and would never make an appearance on his former stomping ground without writing some lines for himself (which he’d probably tried out in his living room with friends beforehand). No doubt he let Carson know that he’d like to be asked about his “regrets” of leaving this very successful late night show.
Author and former Carson lawyer Henry Bushkin and Janet Jordan.Maria Cooper Janis and Pia Lindstrom.
The Carson stories that came before this book were often horrible or awful. He was off-camera, in many ways the opposite of the man on-camera. This isn’t so unusual; this is Show Business. But by the time he was settled in Hollywood (having moved the show from New York) he was spoiled, over-indulged as well as burdened with his own demons. Henry Bushkin came to know him very well, as well, if not moreso, than any of his wives (that’s all debatable I know). Their relationship was a very close one but it ended and not harmoniously according to most reports.

One of the vagaries of Show Business when you get into the stratosphere of stardom is the ease in which intimate relationships are formed only to be followed by some slight or slights that end in an expression of distrust. This can be blamed on the star and it can be blamed on the “friend” (which could mean: lover, lawyer, maid, driver, bodyguard, brother, sister, etc.) It’s a conundrum that is now classic about a society that is best described cinematically in Billy Wilder’s“Sunset Boulevard.”
Regina Greeven and Ron Linclau.
Anyway, Jim Mitchell who has toiled on those primrose and gilt-edged paths most of his life is well familiar with the vagaries and their aftermaths. He invited among his guests to join Mr. Bushkin and his fiancée Janet Jordan, Maria Cooper Janis and Pia Lindstrom. Both women are children of Hollywood, daughters of two of its biggest stars of mid-20th century, Gary Cooper and Ingrid Bergman.

Both women, are longtime New Yorkers and have never been far from the spotlight (Lindstrom is a longtime television personality and Cooper-Janis is the longtime wife of international piano virtuoso Byron Janis), and nothing they hear or read about that world and that time of their parents’ lives would surprise them. Meanwhile Henry Bushkin has a fascinating best-seller on his hands.
Pia Lindstrom and Jim Mitchell.
For the next few days of this long end of the year holiday, we’re going to re-run some of our earlier stories about individuals whose lives in many ways characterized the world of Society of the era that preceded ours. It was also the era that preceded all of the Liberation movements including the Women’s Movement and the Gay Liberation. Today, our two entries are about Joanne Connelley, a debutante who was the Cinderella of her era (late 1940s and early 1950s), a life that was snuffed out far too early in the land of Too Much Too Soon, the number one debutante of the late 1940s; and the life of Oskar Dieter Alex von Rosenberg-Redé, 3rd Baron Von Rosenberg-Redé who is remembered as Alexis the Baron de Redé, a prominent French banker, collector and socialite who at the end of his life was associated with the management of the millions of the Rolling Stones.
Joanne Connelley on her wedding day to Jaime Ortiz-Patino.Alexis the Baron de Redé.
Before I close, Jeff Hirsch and I would like to thank you for reading the New York Social Diary which is now in the middle of its 14th year on the World Wide Web. The NYSD readers live all over the world in all kinds of towns, cities and villages. It is your readership and appreciation of our work that is our ultimate reward and we thank you again and again for your devotion and encouragement. May this year be the Happiest for all of us. A tall order, unlikely to be filled entirely but one to always bear in mind.
 

Contact DPC here.

Whether that happened or not

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Surveying the weather in the late afternoon. Photo: Jeff Hirsch.
January 3, 2013. It is snowing and very cold as I sit down to write this at 7:30 on Thursday night. The weathermap shows a huge storm that the forecasters are predicting. Of late these huge ones have somehow managed to skirt or rush by New York City. Whether that happened or not will be obvious by the time you read this Diary.

The last week: The moving truck across the avenue waiting to pick up or deliver. Moving trucks are not infrequent in this part of town. I’d never seen this one before.
New Year's Eve day, the UPS man is back to pick up the returns and the Christmas goods. A neighbor takes her daily power walk to get in shape for the evening coming up.
Sunset on Monday, the day before New Year's Eve. Red sky at night, sailors' delight ...
I took this picture to send to my friend Schulenberg in California who always sends me pictures of his beautiful garden outside his door. The lemons on the bottom left are relics. In the cachepot is a metal pail with soil and something to plant -- a Christmas gift. Then there's the orchid. I don't know its name but a friend of mine who lives out East but comes in once a week, grows them, rescues them, fosters them. He brought this as a Christmas gift. When it's run its course, I will return it and he will care for it until its next bloom. It's hard to see in this picture because in the background is a large fern that I kept on the terrace in the warm weather. I'm hoping to keep it going until the next time. And the small blue painting on the books is Paige Peterson's view in East Hampton. To the right beyond are some roses I bought for my New Year's Eve drinks with old friends. In the frame to the right of the roses is a Horst portrait of Dorothy Hirshon, whom I write about in this Diary. To the immediate left is a plant I rescued from the laundry room about eight years ago. It's never been brilliant but it's been moving. The white pads are for...you got it...the dawns when Dave fails to take them out.
I love these two. I'm drawing a blank: what are they called? They like most weather but not this kind, so they're in for the duration. I love the way they change color with the Sun.
5 PM Thursday night, a blizzard predicted to arrive soon.Same time, looking north.
6 PM. Snow.
8 PM. Accumulating. Very cold out.
Same time looking north.
10 PM looking south, more accumulation.Same time looking north. The cabs are beginning to crawl along the avenue.
We got a lot of messages yesterday from readers who enjoyed the piece on the Society of New York in the 1930s (What a Swell Party it Was!). I wrote it back in 1994 for Quest. In those days I was writing a feature and a Diary every month. Re-reading I was surprised how much I enjoyed it, if you'll excuse my fall from humility. It had a freshness that had its charm.

I recalled the circumstances. I wrote it because I needed a feature to earn my check, and often I didn’t know what to write.

I happened to see the Willamauz illustration. It reminded me of my friend Dorothy Hirshon. Dorothy Hart Hearst Paley Hirshon, a Beverly Hills girl from early in the last century who went out into the great big world as a late teenager and her life was a banquet. Possessing great American beauty, fresh charm, great style, intense curiosity and a way of getting around that defies anything I ever knew before.

A Horst photograph of Dorothy, then Dorothy Paley in her early thirties.
I realized that she actually wrote this piece. It was at the time when I saw her most frequently (she died suddenly in 1999, two weeks before her 90th birthday). We’d met only a few years before when she was a source for a project I was working on, and we were both interested in knowing each other. It was one of those things, but something that happened frequently with Dorothy who was then in her eighties and still possessing that “allure.”

So I showed her the illustration and told her I was thinking of writing something about the nightlife of New York in that era now remembered for its glamour more than the Great Depression. Depression is what they were feeling and Glamour was how they were lifting their spirits. Dorothy remembered it all. She was married to William Paley, the CBS founder, during that decade, having come from an earlier marriage to Jack Hearst, one of William Randolph Heart’s sons. Mr. Paley had a natural fondness for cuckolding the wives and women of powerful men, and Dorothy was the prize of prizes.

Anyway, all those years later, back in 1994, she remembered the painting and even knew Willamauz, who coincidentally had lived nearby. Then she’d tell me about it all. Reading through this piece I wrote, I see that a good deal of it is what she told me. She was one of those people who was a writer by sensibility, and a photographer, although she never engaged in either.

That’s how I knew that fantastically minor detail about the dogs that the coatcheck kept for the Ladies Who Lunched at The Colony. When she finished, I could see it and almost hear it. Dorothy loved dogs, incidentally; always had a lot of them. Strays, all.

The energy of the piece which impressed me in the re-reading 20 years later is also Dorothy’s. Very often I still think of her in my travels about the city and this world. She always had an answer that led to more. In her first marriage she was unsurprisingly admired by old W.R. who often used to take her down to Duveen Brothers (on 55th and Fifth where Abercrombie sells a different kind of art). She could recount the experience of Lord Duveen operating. Economically but thoroughly with a couple of observation. You felt like you were there with Dorothy.
This is my favorite shot of Dorothy. She must have been in her early to mid-fifties, had had all three husbands. The dog in the background is the personality signature. She went great lengths at times to rescue the trod upon mutts, had many. Cats too. Same thing. They all worshipped her.
Today in the last Retrospective installment in our holiday week we’re running Mary Hilliard’s photographs of Malcolm Forbes’ 70th Birthday Celebration in Morocco in 1989 (Part 1 and Part II).

He was born in Brooklyn in August 19, 1919. Lawrenceville and Princeton followed. His father BC Forbes had created the magazine of the same name. He was highly regarded in the world of American finance, and an influence. The son, any son would have a hard time beating that one.

Malcolm Forbes (with Elizabeth Taylor) as he prepares for his party taking place the evening of.
As a young man, Malcolm dabbled in politics (ran for the Governorship of New Jersey in his early 30s). When he was 38, his father, the Patriarch, died and Malcolm committed himself to the business. His brother died seven years later and he became The Man.

He was obviously an intelligent, thinking, creative man. But his genius that is reflected even in Mary’s photographs, was what today we call Marketing.

Back in Malcolm Forbes’ day they were called flacks, promoters, publicists, even carny barkers. The best of them like Edward Bernays, professionally founded the public relations companies, and the advertising agencies. And then there were these stand-alone types. Malcolm Forbes was one of those.

He came to the fore of celebrity through his ownership of Forbes. Whereas BC Forbes was seriously serious, son was took a lighter, flashier road. He amused his audience by flaunting the wealth his magazine brought him. In no way did it diminish his own stature with anyone.

The circulation grew and grew. It was a logical logistic. His private plane was called Capitalist Tool. Everybody loved it. The yachts were called Highlander (each succeeding one was bigger).

He lived high, wide and handsome, collected great art, owned a chateau in France, a mansion in New Jersey, acquired an enormous collection of Faberge and also Harley-Davidsons. He even created the Forbes 400 List which today has become list of (albeit questionable) prestige.

Later that evening ...
He was a rich man’s dream of being a rich man with a public image of being smart, shrewd, cool and hail-fellow-well-met. I don’t doubt that he was ... in some ways ... all those things. And not. That kind of personal magnitude has its downside in delusion no matter who possesses it.

So in the year 1989, he decided to throw a 70th birthday party. He rented a palace in Tangier, Elizabeth Taylor was his co-host. He chartered a 747, a DC-8 and a Concorde to transport his 800 guests from around the world including bankers and princes and prime ministers, all kinds of famous and befortuned (as well as lots of CEOs). Everything, the entertainment, the food, the Guests, was appallingly impressive to not only the guests but to the world watching through the emerging media.

Because it was more of that special Malcolm marketing: having fun with your money – the dream of a well-fed culture.

It was a great success, the party; and Mr. Forbes died of a heart attack the following year. A well executed and brilliant swan song of personal grandeur.
 

Contact DPC here.

New Year celebration shutdown

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Wind gusts in Sheep Meadow in Central Park. Friday, 3 PM. Photo: Jeff Hirsch.
Monday January 6, 2014. Well that’s that. New Year celebration shutdown; back to reality. Sunday went from very cold morning but wet, and gradually to a little less cold but with a biting chill in the air. And then at the time of this writing (midnight), fog. Fawg, like Blighty of old in those black and white archival photos we’ve all seen. It’s supposed to be warmer by the time you read this.
Last night view of East End south and north, from the terrace, 12 a.m.
The snowstorm in New York was the old fashioned kind. No big deal really. It snowed steadily and blowing between Thursday night to Friday morning for eight or ten hours before it subsided. But it didn’t accumulate much more than four or five inches in the city (in our little micro enviro of East End Avenue).

It reminded me of an average snowfall when I was a kid. It just added to the mounds but it was the blizzard where it took me more than an hour to shovel the sidewalks of three of our next door neighbors.  A foot, two feet. None of that here in Manhattan. Although my nephew up on Cape Cod reported eighteen inches up there.
Thursday night about midnight.
Friday morning.
Friday night's sunset looking south, and then looking north with the pink cast on the buildings.
So that is my NYSD weatherman story. Now, in another part of town, actually West End Avenue, Friday morning, JH left his warm and cozy aerie overlooking that other river (yes the Hudson), to get some photo record of what you could see.

He told me later that what was missing in this snow storm was the snow on the trees. The trees were bare. He hadn’t recalled it like this in a long time. So here’s what he saw on Friday afternoon starting out on Riverside Drive ...
Into Riverside Park ...
On West End Avenue ...
On Broadway ...
On Central Park West ...
Into Central Park ...
Back on West End Avenue ...
Word comes from Los Angeles that Philip Van Rensselaer the socialite/memoirist and biographer died last week in Los Angeles in a convalescent home. He would have been 86 this year.

Mr. Van Rensselaer was something of a media celebrity when I first came to New York out of college. A well known man about town with a very old family name in a world where that still had gravity in society and in the press.

Philip Van Rensselaer, photographed by Slim Aarons for the back cover of his book, "That Vanderbilt Woman" about Gloria Morgan Vanderbilt, mother of Gloria Vanderbilt and grandmother of Anderson Cooper.
The Van Rensselaers were Dutch, and acquired their land grant in 1631 in what is now New York State and part of Massachusetts. It was 48 miles long by 24 miles wide. It extended up the Hudson and as far east as what is now the Western part of Massachusetts. The first Van Rensselaer who was Lord of the Manor was Kilian. He was a founding member of the East India Company that settled New Amsterdam as part of their business plan. He never came here to this country but managed his property like a major investment from Holland. His son came to visit but his grandson was the first to live on the ranch (my word, not theirs of course): Jon-Baptiste Van Rensselaer

These domains were not like your ordinary land ownership. The Van Rensselaer tract was theirs and you were a guest who lived according to and by their rules which were those of a colony. They were independent with their own police and judicial forces. They had great power in the New World. Once when Peter Stuyvesant got into a serious disagreement with the first Mr. Van Rensselaer, he said that the only way to win with a Van Rensselaer was to go to War with them.

When the British took over “New Netherland” and renamed it “New York,” the Van Rensselaers got to keep theirs. When the French and Indian Wars occurred over the Northeastern area, the Van Rensselaers were not under siege. They had already made their agreements with the Native Americans and it was negotiated to everyone’s liking. At the time anyway. Their vast property covered 700,000 acres including the area that is now Albany.

Van Rensselaer was a serious writer penning 3 books.
The Van Rensselaer family’s patrimony held sway in the real estate world, financial world and the social world well into the 19th century. By the age of Edith Wharton, their place in New York society was acknowledged by her in the characters the Van der Luydens. By the time that Philip Van Rensselaer came along (he was born in 1928), the name had lost its power and punch financially, but not its social gravitas.

He was a tall handsome fellow, judging from the photographs. He was gay and although it was before the time that people were “out,” he lived in a sophisticated world where those realities were recognized, accepted and acknowledged, albeit privately not publicly. He had a very close relationship with, among others women, Barbara Hutton, the Woolworth heiress. (Hutton was also first cousin of the Donahues and Jimmy Donahue was her only “friend” and confidant). Hutton also had a lot of husbands and what the late John Galliher (ten years older than Van Rensselaer), called “inconsequential generosity.” It was presumed that a bond in that relationship between him and Hutton was that inconsequential generosity with a focus. Although Van Rensselaer was a sincere and caring man with Hutton.

He had the public reputation for being one of those boys in society who were escorts and houseguests and with a name very useful to those hosts and hostesses who liked letting the name slip to impress. Furthermore he dressed a table and a room with an attractive and agreeable presence.

But he was also a serious writer and very readable. His book “That Vanderbilt Woman” refers to the mother of Gloria Vanderbilt (and grandmother of Anderson Cooper) who was the very young second wife of Reginald Vanderbilt. The book is written in the novel-form as history. Highly readable and of course impossible to know if it’s accurate. However it’s a good bet that Van Rensselaer had access to the inside story on the lives of these people because he was one of them (the Van Rensselaer name, for example was impressive to the Vanderbilts who were also Dutch latecomers to the Colonies – 18th century).

I was told that Mr. Van Rensselaer had been ailing for a long time – which was why he was in a home. He’d been living in Los Angeles, the City of the Angels, for many years. That would have been the real New World to the patroons– had they known. Philip Van Rensselaer surely knew that too. May he rest in peace.

Meanwhile, in the real estate department. I read in the Realestalker.com and then the Real Deal, that Vince Camuto, the Nine West shoe tycoon, had sold or was about to sell his fabulous oceanfront estate in Southampton for $48 million. Evidently the deal also includes the houses on the same (original) property which were once the garages and stables of the original estate for an additional $20 million plus.

It’s a spectacular piece of property as you can see from the aerial view. It sits right next door to the Southampton Bathing Corporation (the beach club).
The Wooldon Manor property of shoe tycoon Vince Camuto on the beach in Southampton, which reportedly sold for $48 million. To the right of the driveway are additional properties which belonged to the original estate first built in 1901-02 by Dr. Peter Wyckoff. These properties were also reported to be sold for many millions also.
Aerial view of the east side of the Camuto property. The house was origianlly the beach house which Jessie Woolworth Donahue had built when she acquired the property in 1928. Also surrounding the property (the green hedge) is a brick wall that Mrs. Donahue built. The house was open to society in all its renovated and redesigned glory the following year, 1929. It was not a favoreable one for the country's fortunes, nor was it favorable for Jessie Donahue's social ascent.
A close-up of the house.
Prices and neighbors aside, the property itself is the interesting story. The original  was commissioned by Dr. Peter Wyckoff in 1900. Wyckoff was an MD who left the profession, went to Wall Street and made a fortune. And built this house. Fifty-eight rooms right on the ocean. Tudor style. Brick, stucco and timber. The world was a much quieter one a century ago. There were no crowds in Southampton. There were very few people in Southampton. Maybe a few more in the summertime. Life’s luxury was its leisure. The Wyckoffs had a flower gardens. Mrs. Wyckoff was a founder of the Fresh Air Home, still flourishing today.

Jessie Woolworth Donahue (photographed here with her poodle), heiress of her father F. W. Woolworth, was one of the richest women in America. She was married to an unfortunate man who was an alcoholic and a compulsive gambler (Jessie was that too, and an active bisexual), and who committed suicide almost on a whim of sudden depression after a card game.
In 1928, Dr. Wyckoff, then 84 (he died the following year) sold the property to Jessie Woolworth Donahue, one of the three daughters of F. W. Woolworth who made what today would be billions with his Five and Dime Stores. Fifteen acres and 610 feet of oceanfront, Mrs. Donahue was looking to move into Southampton society with the biggest and the best.

She had the place done over, and in record time because she wanted it for that summer, 1929.  The gardens were more extensive, six different gardens surrounded by a vast flat lawn. She also built a beach house with a pavilion containing a 30 by 60 indoor pool. That beach house is what is now known as the main house. They named the property Wooldon (Woolworth/Donahue, get it?)

When it was ready for occupancy it was considered the best house on Long Island. Cleveland Amory in his book “The Last Resorts” quoted Mrs. Donahue’s reprobate husband James giving some guests a tour of the house and as they entered the dining room he said, “Come on in and see it; all the silver’s gold.”

The Donahues moved in with their two sons, Woolworth and James Jr., known as Jimmy. For whatever reason, they did not make the cut socially. It certainly wasn’t because they were outclassed financially. It might have been the public (and private) reputation of Mr. Donahue Sr., who was known to be a gambler, a drunk and actively (flauntingly) bisexual.
This was Wooldon before it was so named, the home of Dr. Peter Wyckoff and his wife. 58 rooms. Much of what you've learned from this piece was extracted from the wonderful book "Houses of the Hamptons 1880 - 1930" by Gary Lawrance and Anne Surchin (Acanthus Publishers). There is, of course, much more in this excellent cofffee table size volume.
The ocean front side of the house built for Dr. Peter Wyckoff.
A painting of the Wyckoff cottage and its gardens.
The pool house at Wooldon Manor.
This is Cielito Lindo in Palm Beach, built by Jessie Donahue the year before she bought the property in Southampton. It also was designed to serve to social ambitions. Evidently a very pleasant woman, she really got the greatest reaction when she'd do something spectacular, like throw a party and import an entire Broadway musical revue for entertainment, as she did more than once at Cielito Lindo. However, the name and the husband's reputation, not to mention her disreputable hell-raising son, Jimmy, caused a lot of the "proper" society people to recoil (at least slightly when she wasn't hanging out the ham). Nevertheless, Mrs. Donahue seems to have survived her domestic hardships and enjoyed herself and the company she kept. It was said that she spent thousands of dollars on the Windsors for three years running before the bloom was off the rose. Her son Jimmy had a very famous affair (true or false) with the duchess of Windsor, which eventually caused a complete fall out and final split from the couple for poor Mrs. Donahue.
After two years on the impossible climbs in Southampton, Jessie Donahue got herself a yacht and headed for sunnier climes. Mr. Donahue killed himself two years later in their New York townhouse on East 80th Street. He had been in a card game, was losing; and got up from the table, went to the bathroom and took an overdose.

The property was sold at auction for a price much lower than its cost, in 1937 to Edward F. Lynch of Merrill, Lynch, Fenner & Beane. Remember them? Now known as Merrill Lynch.
The notorious society bad boy Jimmy Douglas with his "friend" Wallis, the Duichess of Windsor.
Lynch bought the property for the beach house. But he died the following year. One of his partners, Charles Merrill, bought the beach house from the Lynch estate. To cut the property taxes, the Lynch family demolished the main house that Jessie Donahue had spent millions on less than ten years before. Then the property was subdivided and the outer buildings – stables, garages, etc. – were converted into houses. For several decades, the William McKnight family has occupied that property besides Mr. Camuto's beachfront.

Jessie Donahue’s acres of beautiful gardens are now impeccably maintained flat lawn that covers most of the fifteen acres. The Donahues impossible iron entrance gate remains, as does that great brick wall that embraces the property bordered by Gin Lane. Old Jessie was born too soon. With all those Woolworth billions and a palace on the beach, she  would have been in fine fettle socially today, husband or no husband.
 

Contact DPC here.

The social calendar is mainly empty

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A lone taxi on Friday night. The snow is no more as of Monday night. Photo: Jeff Hirsch.
Tuesday, January 7, 2014. The snow’s gone. It was overcast but not very cold – 49/50 – yesterday in New York. Then late afternoon the cold began to move in; still overcast. By mid-evening there were strong icy winds blowing off the river, and the weather man predicted single digit temps.

The New Year has begun but the social calendar is mainly empty until later in the month. A friend reminded me the other day that January’s always the doldrums (in the Northeast with the grey skies and arctic temperatures). A lot of those who can, leave for the warmer climes.

Fine by me (I’m not going anywhere). Plus, like the kid who has an excuse to stay home from school (sniffles), I have a bit of excuse myself (which I’m using with myself). I was going to write about it at the end of last week but JH, my editor took one look at my tale and said: “even Hemingway couldn’t make this interesting.”
The party's over ...
The story: This past New Year’s Eve day I awoke in the morning with sharp gas pains in my intestine. After going through the personal litany of fears (appendix, etc.), I looked it up on Google (“sharp pain, lower left intestine) and it came back with  “diverticulitis.” I knew enough to get myself to the Lisa Perry Emergency Room at New York Hospital down the road a piece.

They treated me very well, ct-scanned and confirmed the diagnosis and six hours later I was released with a bottle of antibiotics just before the bell tolled midnight (and the New Year). It wrecked my New Year’s Eve totally, of course, but who cares, pain’s gone, and I’m still here.

Nothing-on-the-calendar is a two-sided coin for this writer who ideally wishes to deliver a column four or five days a week. A little bit of under-the-weather is a great excuse for no ideas. Nevertheless, getting one out remains the compulsive obsession that drives me in the first place. People are kind enough to ask me how I feel? I feel fine.

Yesterday I went to lunch at Swifty’s with Jean Hanff Korelitz. Before I go any further: Jean, as you may or may not know, is an author. Her novel “Admission” was made into a film released last March starring Tina Fey and Paul Rudd. She has a new novel coming out next month, “You Should Have Known” about a marriage counselor married to a pediatric oncologist at a major cancer hospital, who writes a book by that aforementioned title and discovers her own perfect life with Doctor Right is a mirage.
Paul Muldoon and Jean Hanff Korelitz in their new New York apartment on Riverside Drive. Photo credit: New York Times, Horiko Masuike.
Jean and I were introduced by our distinguished mutual friend Jesse Kornbluth who sent me an email saying something like “You gotta meet this girl, she loves the NYSD and she’s got a great idea.”  There may be some hyperbole garnishing Jesse’s enthusiasm but he never wastes anyone’s time, so when Jean contacted me (she beat me to it), we made this lunch date.

On the first Monday after New Year’s at Swifty’s it’s not exactly bustling. You could almost feel you’re the only one left in town. But it’s nice because it’s quiet and the food’s good. However, this was a  “blind date” since neither of us had ever laid eyes on the other.

I had seen a picture of Jean in the New York Times a couple of weeks ago. She and her husband, the Irish poet Paul Muldoon appeared in an article in the Real Estate Section of the Sunday Times on December 19th, with some photos of their new New York apartment.
Karen Croner, Tina Fey, and Jean Hanff Korelitz on the set of Admission.
The Korelitz-Muldoons had recently moved to a rental apartment on Riverside Drive from a big old house in Princeton. They did this because their young son is attending Fieldston where his mother went when she was a kid. (She’s a Dartmouth grad also .)

I remember seeing the article and reading it although I didn’t connect the woman in the Times with the woman I was about to have lunch with.

Well, it was easy. This is the thing about New York: you can sit down at table with someone you’ve never met before and immediately start learning about each other. Instantly. Jean grew up on the Upper East Side Her father is a gastroenterologist who practices out of Lenox Hill Hospital. Her mother is a therapist (she told her mother the new novel is not about her — I wonder…). She has an older sister.

She and Mr. Muldoon, who is a Pulitzer Prize winning poet, have been living well in Princeton where he holds seminars on poetry (I’m not exactly correct on this fact). They moved to this apartment on the Upper West Side so her son could go to Fieldston. Her daughter is downtown at NYU.
Jean Hanff Korelitz reading from Admission.
That led to discussing books and people and Truman Capote and the Cushing Sisters and eventually led to my telling her about myself, my background, etc.

Finally after a couple hours of this (time flying by) I asked Jean why she wanted to have lunch with me (Jesse had told me and I had forgotten). She had an idea having to do with Books and Book Reading Groups.

I’ve never belonged to a Book Reading Group but they are very popular here in New York. I know people who’ve been meeting for more than 20 years to discuss The Book they are reading. I once sat in on a Book Reading Group discussing John O’Hara’s“Appointment in Samarra,” because I have been an O’Hara fan all my life, and it was very interesting.

Fran Lebowitz happened to be a guest of the group. She said something about O’Hara that describes his place in American literature most succinctly and why I’ve always been drawn to him: (the quote is from memory and may not be exact) – “John O’Hara is the real Scott Fitzgerald of the American century because he wrote about the same decades and about all the classes of that era.”

When Jean Korelitz was living in Princeton, for the past twelve years, she’d run a  “Meet the Author” book group there which she loved. Every month, the author of that month’s selection (novel, memoir, biography or non-fiction work) would attend the meeting with its 25 members in her living room.

The author would explain how his or her book came into being, what twists and turns it encountered along the way, and how its creation had changed its creator.

The conversations that followed were enriched by the author’s thoughts and words. They were funny, sad, surprising and for some, deeply illuminating for others. People walked away from the meetings with a sense of a deepened understanding of writing in general, and that month’s selection in particular. And, they also got a signed copy of the book.

Jean could see that the author’s attendance changed the experience for the group members. People attending came away  enhanced, even in some ways transformed.
All of this led, along with her new life in the city of her birth, to an idea: A service called “Book The Writer.  Here’s her card and the  other side of the card which lists some of the writers here in New York who have agreed to appear at book group meetings.  Will they travel? I don’t know; you’ll have to ask.

The website is up: www.bookthewriter.com. Email address is info@bookthewriter.com. Check it out.
Meanwhile, all you Francophiles out there, and even though who have the palette for it, tomorrow night, Wednesday, January 8th, at 6:30 pm, the French Institute Alliance Francaise (FIAF) and Eric Bedoucha, Executive Pastry chef and Partner of Financier Patisserie, are ringing in la nouvelle annee with a Galette des Rois Celebration.

La Galette des Rois (which literally means “The flat pastry cake of the Kings”) is a cake celebrating the Epiphany. It is traditionally sold and consumed a few days before and after the holiday. Hidden inside is a figurine (la feve) which can represent anything from a car to a cartoon character. The person who finds it in their slice is crowned King for the day and will have to provide the next year’s Galette.

The event will take place at FIAF’s Le Skyroom, 22 East 60th Street (between Park and Madison). Admission is $25 for members and $30 for non-members. For tickets: fiaf.org or 212-355-6160. King for a Day; you never know ...
 

Contact DPC here.

Enduring the cold

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Braving the cold on 84th and Fifth. 3:00 PM. Photo: Jeff Hirsch.
Wednesday, January 8, 2014. Very cold in New York. The kind where your face hurts if you’re walking along the street for a few minutes, and afterwards when you get inside, the tip of your nose hurts. So, as you might imagine, people stayed inside as much as possible.

Today is the 79th anniversary of Elvis Presley. The generations that grew up on rock-n-roll all remember where they were when they first saw Elvis perform (mainly national television – Milton Berle Show, Horace Heidt Show and Ed Sullivan.

Elvis on the Milton Berle Show in 1956.
He was an overnight sensation and the nation’s number one male sex symbol (Liz in her column the other day alluded to Elvis and Marilyn of being the symbols of their time and the generation that followed).

He died thirty-seven years ago in 1977 at 42. The national mourning was comparable to the death of Rudolph Valentino fifty years before. Elvis was in a very real way the Valentino of his  generation. His home Graceland in Memphis is still a major tourist attraction and has been visited by millions. His estate continues to earn millions of dollars a year. Yet Elvis remains a sensational and yet sad tale of the vagaries of stardom. Nevertheless the man’s work remains an affecting legacy.

I went down to Michael’s for lunch. The traffic was gridlock on all the downtown avenues, except for Fifth, with few people walking. When I got to Michael’s, there were security people outside as well as a couple of big black Escalades and a squad car. Inside, in the garden, Paramount Pictures was giving a luncheon for its Oscar nominees.

There were security guys in the restaurant also. I was told the security was for Leonardo DiCaprio, whether or not that was true. Shortly after I took my table, Leonardo came into the restaurant. He was well turned out in a grey suit and tie, as he passed our table, he noticed Martin Scorsese sitting at Table One in the bay with Brian Williams of NBC Nightly News and Henry Schlieff,  and went over to greet them all.
Paramount took over the entire Garden Room (along with a hefty dose of security). The guest list was as follows:  Tony Lo Bianco, Cornelia and Marty Bregman, Seth Meyers, Will Forte, Jonah Hill, Tom Baird, Fred Zollo, Bruce Dern, Steve Buscemi, Rob Reiner, Tina Louise, Baz Bamigboye, Leslie Dart, Martin Scorsese, Leonardo DiCaprio, Roger Friedman, Stu Zakim, Richard Gere, Wendy Finerman, Naomi Foner, Carol Kane.  I always have my camera with me and part of me was thinking I should try to get some photos. But it’s a harder objective when people are eating, and you don’t know them, to ask them to look at the camera, so I didn’t. Here's a little photo collage instead.
I was having lunch with Judy Price who just returned with her husband Peter from a trip to India, to Calcutta, which they loved. The Prices have been to India more than a dozen times but never to Calcutta. Judy was surprised, and pleasantly, to see a center that reminded her more of the middle of London than the so-called “Black Hole of Calcutta.”

Judy Price.
Judy, if you didn’t know, created Avenue magazine about forty years ago. I was her Editor-in-Chief from 97 to 2000. It was at Avenue where I met Jeff Hirsch, who co-founded the NYSD with me. Judy sold the magazine the following year. Many thought it was a sign of retirement, but no grass grows under that lady’s feet.

A naturally industrious and enterprising woman, and dogged in her approach to achieving a task, she started a new project, the National Jewelry Institute with the ultimate goal of founding a jewelry museum. That ultimate goal remains just that right now but the Nat. Jewelry Institute is celebrating its tenth anniversary with a black tie gala dinner on May 7th at the Morgan Library. JP Morgan himself was one of the world’s greatest collectors of jewels.

Typically, the tables are sold out to some of the world’s leading fashion, jewelry and luxury brands such Armani, Assael, Boucheron, Bulgari, Chanel, Chopard, Dior, Forevermark, Georg Jensen, Givenchy, Hermes, ING Bank, Nespresso, Ralph Lauren, Richemont, Ruinart, Tiffany, Turnbull and Asser, Valentino, Vartanian & Sons, and Louis Vuitton. I told you: enterprising, industrious.

A piece once worn by Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis at National Jewelry Institute's Notorious & Notable: 20th Century Women of Style exhibtion at the Museum of the City of New York in 2011.
The evening, she told me, will celebrate the support of all these great brand leaders who have during the past decade supported the National Jewelry Institute’s fifteen exhibitions in major world capitals, as well as the four books produced about jewelry and style. The Honorary Chair of the evening will be HRH Princess Marie Chantal of Greece who will attend with her husband HRH Prince Pavlos.

The Institute’s next major exhibition, Destination NY: Traveling in Style will open on April 15, 2015 at the then newly renovated Cultural Services of the French Embassy (in the old Stanford White designed Payne Whitney mansion) on Fifth Avenue between 79th and 78th. 

What makes the show unusual is that the exhibit focuses on famous people such as Marlene Dietrich, JP Morgan, Lord Mountbatten, Dwight D. Eisenhower, Walt Disney, Elizabeth Arden, and Humphrey Bogart. It will include photos of the people and objects they owned and travelled with, such as: lighters, flasks, money clips, pocket watches, travelling games, bookmarks, cufflinks, minaudieres, and jeweled sunglasses.  Also on exhibit will be travelling outfits belonging to people such as the Duchess of Windsor and Babe Paley. International interior designer Juan Montoya will design the exhibition.
Highlights from the National Jewelry Institute's last six exhibitions (clockwise from top left): Invisibly Set Ruby and Diamond Circle Earclips, which belonged to Bernice Chrysler Garbisch, Van Cleef & Arpels, 1941; Pounamu (NZ Jade) Necklace, New Zealand Jade, golden pearls, colored diamonds; Necklace with Cross Pendant, Byzantium, 6th to 7th century C.E.; Gold Medal of Donna Lynn Weinbrecht; Foliage Earrings, 18k gold, Burma rubies, enamel. Designer: Leila Tai; Harry Winston Avenue Squared A2 Timepiece, 18k white gold, diamonds (5.34 carats), satin strap, Double quartz movement.
 

Contact DPC here.

Hot and Cold

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The Hotel Pierre on Fifth Avenue and 61st Street with the shadow of the Sherry-Netherland upon it and the cornice of the Metropolitan Club (on 60th and Fifth) below. 2:00 PM. Photo: JH.
Thursday, January 9, 2013. Sunny, very cold yesterday in New York. I had an Indian cabdriver, a young guy from Mumbai who’s been in this country for three years. He asked me “how long” would the cold last; he’s still not used to it. I think he was hoping I’d say, til tomorrow (who knows?). Having grown up in New England and having gone to college Down Maine where the snow piled very high every winter and the daily temp might be below zero for days, I must admit I’m used to it. But of course you never really get used to it. The only relief is to be somewhere warm.
Ice floating up the Hudson River. Photos: JH.
Ice on the ground.
Yesterday, being Wednesday was the Michael’s lunch and that place was hot – although with the crowd coming and going through the front door, there was a frequent gust of frigid air that approached my table a few times.

I took this picture of part of the room hoping to catch a sense of the mayhem (an exaggeration but still applicable) going on. I didn’t succeed because there’s no Noise Factor. The place gets as crowded on other days, but there is something about Wednesdays that makes me think of “Animal House” (another exaggeration but ...); i.e., the noise. People talking. People are always getting up from their tables and going over to other tables to talk. And there’s a lot of noise, what the adults used to call, when I was a kid, “a lot of racket.”
Michael's Wednesday lunch.
My guess is the main source of the racket yesterday was the presence of the peripatetic Dr. Mehmet Oz who was at Table One with his wife Lisa Oz, and a lot of other people, specifically Diane Clehane and Hearst executives, as the doctor is launching a magazine under the Hearst banner called Dr. Oz The Good Life. Oz was up and about quite a bit. That’s him, the taller man in the dark suit standing in front of the David Hockney print talking to another man.

1. Michael Mailer 2. Ellen Levine and Dr. Gerry Imber 3. Michael Kramer, Andrew Bergman, and Jerry Della Femina 4. Alice Mayhew 5. Joan Hamburg with friends.
The guy seated at the table next to him is Michael Mailer, film producer and son of the late Norman. Michael is working on a web series called "Ivy League Crimelords" with none other than JH's cousin, Jon Friedman, and Michael Della Femina, son of Jerry Della Femina (uhuh, the same Jerry Della Femina two paragraphs down). The show is about three middle-age friends from Harvard, Yale and Princeton (Mailer, Friedman, and Della Femina) who create a fictitious mob leader in order to shake down the industry and get their TV show made. It is very funny and fun (and smart). See for yourself: ivyleaguecrimelords.tv.

The lady with the short white hair is Ellen Levine, the editorial director of Hearst Magazines. She’s talking to Dr. Gerry Imber (wearing a sweater vest to ward off the weather).

He’s at table with (l. to r.) author/playwrights Michael Kramer, Andrew Bergman (back to camera) and Jerry Della Femina, Advertising genius, restaurateur and Hamptons press mogul. Behind them, you can just see the back of the head of the great Simon & Schuster editor Alice Mayhew who was lunching Paul Steiger, the great former editor of the Wall Street Journal.  And to the right (behind Jerry Della Femina) is a table of women presided over by Joan Hamburg, the now legendary talkradio host.

The guy with his back nearest to the camera is Luke Janklow, son of Mortand LindaJanklow and now a major mover in the Janklow-Nesbit literary agency. The man he’s talking to is Ron Delsener who’s produced all those rock concerts you’ve been going to for the past few decades. To their left are people from Oz’s table talking to people from other tables.

Click cover to order “The Need to Say ‘No.'
I was having lunch with my friend Jesse Kornbluth (you can see one quarter of his head in the lower left hand corner of the picture). Jesse, like this writer, is never at a loss for words, so the conversation was lively and fast-paced, and aided by the visits of several people including Jill Brooke who has a new book out “The Need to Say ‘No’; the Importance of Setting Boundaries in Love, Life & Your World.” (“How to Be Bullish and Not Bullied”).

She brought me a copy along with a tee shirt and a cap that was made up for promoting the book and is by itself selling like hotcakes all over the world. It’s a black tee with the words “NO BS” on the shirtfront.

Jill was kind of shocked that a tee is something people are clamoring for. Evidently Elton John was photographed recently wearing one. Also visiting our table was Teri Bialosky from Los Angeles who was in town with her husband celebrating her birthday. Teri reads the NYSD every day (you go, girl!) and came to Michael’s because it was a Wednesday and she figured she might see ole DPC himself.
"There is an art to saying no and establishing boundaries," says Brooke.
Around the room: Roger Friedman of Showbiz411 (he was with Jill Brooke) and Mykalal Kontilal who is a former owner of The Nightly Business Report on PBS; Andrew Stein; Jack Kliger (TV Guide) and Missy Godfrey; Star Jones and her pal Dr. Holly Phillips; Holly Peterson, who is coming out with a new novel, with Patricia Duff; Anthony Cename of the WSJ, Bizbash’s David Adler; Dr. Mitch Rosenthal; Dini von Muefling with Page Six's Emily Smith; Anne Fulenwider, EIC of Marie Claire; Washington power broker and media lawyer Bob Barnett with Chris Jansing; Pauline Brown of LVMH; Gordon Davis; Jerry Inzerillo; Dave Johnson of Warner Music; Robert Kramer of Adirondack Capital; Wednesday Martin; Ted Levine; Kevin Warsh; John Osborn, CEO of BBDO; Andrew Rosenberg.
Teri Bialosky of Los Angeles, in town with her husband celebrating her birthday. A daily reader of the NYSD, she decided to take in the Michael's Wednesday lunch.
Last night, a friend invited me to a performance of the acclaimed Shakespeare’s Globe production of “Richard III” with the Broadway sensation of the season, Mark Rylance and the brilliant Shakespeare Globe cast at the Belasco Theatre on West 44th Street. The show is running in tandem with Shakespeare’s “Twelfth Night.”

Acclaim can be a handy but overused word when it comes to describing theatre productions, but these productions have been getting raves from everyone I’ve met who has seen them. “Twelfth Night” which I haven’t seen, is said to be one of the funniest shows people have ever seen on Broadway (really). I’ve heard that said over and over by a variety of individuals, many of whom I don’t think of as Shakespeare fans.
I myself am not well-versed in Shakespeare and the few timea (very few) I’ve seen a production, it’s never got to me. “Richard III,” which I was entirely unfamiliar with – had never read, never seen – is an extraordinary production. Mark Rylance has been getting a lot of media attention because of his performance but it is a big cast and every single individual is wonderful.

There was a line on West 44th Street extending well around the corner to Sixth Avenue, waiting to get in (they already had their tickets). A huge crowd. It was sold out, obviously, and the audience profile ran from early twenties to mid-eighties, and everyone was waiting patiently with great enthusiasm.

The show runs for three hours with a fifteen minute intermission after the first hour and a half. The last hour and a half seemed like a half hour. It is riveting, provocative, thrilling and everything brilliant you always heard Shakespeare was but never quite got. You get it with this production. It is also a timely dissection the business of conspiracy and tyranny and the human condition. Rylance’s Richard is clearly a psychopath and could be a character in a contemporary play.

When you enter the theater, the all male cast is on stage donning costumes, wigs, etc. The men who play women are so totally believable as women that you’re not sure they aren’t, even though you saw them making up and donning costumes. Richard, the truly evil, psychopathic man who would be king after murdering his brother and his brother’s children is scary, so scary he gives you the creeps in much the same compelling way that Hitler did.

The theater was sold out. I don’t know how difficult it is to get tickets for this limited run but if you love theatre, or if you love Shakespeare, you’ve never seen anything like this. The last great sensational Shakespeare production on Broadway was in the mid-1960s was Richard Burton as Hamlet. I recall the production (with co-starred Hume Cronyn) because Burton had that magnificent voice which was compelling and he was also deeply involved with Elizabeth Taylor and they were a sensation to the public everywhere.

But this production of “Richard III” is different. This is a perfect example of why Shakespeare still resonates with any audience, four centuries later: you can’t stop watching for even a minute, even a second. It’s a limited run, so run and get your tickets.
 

Contact DPC here.
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