STEVE Bartelstein. Everyone in the New York metropolitan area knows him. Was WABC-TV’s highest-rated morning news anchor for seven years. But, despite never knocking Dubya Bush or speaking of the phrase, “Kenneth, what’s the frequency,” like Dan Rather, he engendered controversy – a sexual harassment mess that lawyer Ron Fischetti beat, plus being late for work, sleeping on the job. His bosses finally signed off on him permanently in March.
Nobody knew where he was going to end up. Yesterday, the first day his WABC contract allowed him to speak out, he told me I might speak out about his whereabouts. He’s been between doctors’ offices, Cabrini’s operating room and bed rest. The diagnosis? Testicular cancer. He faces chemo, radiation, more surgery.
Says Steve: “Doctors say this had long been in my system. I’m not one to complain nor say anything disparaging. But it’s possible my weariness at work was the result of this illness. I’d been showing extreme fatigue for a period of time. Even while I was still on-air, my mother said, ‘I notice you’re lethargic these days.’ ”
So what happens now? “I recoup a little, have more tests, and then they decide on the second operation. It’ll be within the next few weeks.”
He plans on being back on the air somehow somewhere sometime.
“I wasn’t allowed to say it then, but the very day I was fired, CBS offered me a job. So today’s the first day I’m allowed to actually begin talks about another job, but for now I still have a bit of a row to hoe.”
And what happens if an anchorman loses his hair?
“Hey, Mother Nature has already been doing that work for me. I’ll tell you one thing, I won’t go the hairpiece route. I’ll be knowledgeable, charming – and bald.”
SEX, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll go on sale Oct. 30. Seems the whole clump of Rolling Stones has become the Riting Stones. While it’ll take forever for Keith Richards to tell his $7.3 mil story, the newest and latest and tellingest Rolling Stone ready to roll out his rock pile of dirt is Ron Wood, age 60. “Ronnie Wood,” his St. Martin’s autobio, is already heading for the shelves. Nice Ron has fully unloaded 30 years of sex, booze, drugs, needles, pins, music, back-stabbing, rehabs, girlfriends, high life with lowlifes, and large mounds of dung. He’ll hawk this memoir, a one-shot-only N.Y.C. public appearance, 7 p.m., Barnes & Noble in Union Square, Oct. 31. That’s Halloween Night. After Ron’s tale of life after dark, it’ll be the witches and goblins that run scared.
MAYBE Ryan Seacrest and Simon Cowell are friends after all. They dined together at Ago in Beverly Hills. Care to know the conversations of the freshly rich and successful? Each discussed buying a Ferrari 599 for $500,000. . . . If any buyer’s interested, a Whoopi Goldberg heavily made-up self-portrait’s around. . . . If any voter’s interested, Obama crams in an hour of exercise daily, and power-walker Hillary had to give it up for lack of time. . . . Although “Grey’s Anatomy” is back on, there’s no gray on Katharine Heigl. Her hairs got highlighted on Madison Ave. The Oscar Blandi Salon . . . This being Jewish New Year 5768, hunch players scored last weekend with the superfecta numbers 5768 in the eighth race at Belmont. A two-buck bet paid $5,529. . . . Beyoncé and Jay-Z shooting their video at the new Esquire North condo building on 110th Street.
CENTRAL Park is alive with the sound of whacks through wickets. This weekend a three-day tournament celebrates the New York Croquet Club’s 40th year. Despite masses of humanity up to their crumpets in croquet, I know little about it since my family’s outdoor game of choice was stickball. Anyway, Joe Tankoos, who owned 59th and Park’s Delmonico Hotel, which is now another Trump building, and his Town & Country editor wife, Cathy, began the club, and this year’s winner gets a silver mallet at a black-tie and sneakers dinner at the New York Yacht Club. Where else??? The whole thing’s so stiff-upper-lip that even those reporting it barely move their mouths.
SO this husband came home late one night and found the apartment totally empty. No dog. No wife. No barking, no greeting. He couldn’t believe it. His heart beating wildly, he raced to call the doorman. He told a friend the next day: “I went crazy for the moment. I panicked. What could possibly have happened? Did somebody somehow get in and kidnap my dog?” The friend said quietly: “You didn’t worry something maybe happened to your wife?”
Only in New York, kids, only in New York.