A load of lawsuits ago, Dick Grasso dominated our headlines. Chairman of the NY Stock Exchange. Then fired. Then ex-chairman. Then a blood-fight with reigning Gov. Spitzer. Then that lengthy “unlawful, unconscionable, unlegal” lawsuit over compensation which, he had told me, “personally cost me $20 million.”
America goes on. Spitzer a TV personality. Bill Clinton a global hero. Grasso — you ready? Poised to run for His Honor’s job, Mayor of the City of New York. If you haven’t heard this before, you‘re hearing it now. I tell you what I know. I report exact words as they dripped from the exact lips of Richard Grasso His Very Own Self.
Fighter/winner/worker Grasso who loves this city said: “Ray Kelly should be our next mayor. But if Kelly doesn’t take the shot, then I’m thinking seriously of running.”
Grasso’s buddies include Ken Langone, who supported him in his lawsuit, and Hank Greenberg, who built AIG. All play in the same sandbox. Megarich. Money no problem.
Now, Anderson Cooper’s new TV program premiering tonight. Format and future plans being kept quieter than those of Sarah Palin. Staffers, guests, producers, camera types took the vow of omertá .
One already taped upcoming segment? Jerry Seinfeld. The conversation’s breadth, depth and pith was the family cat’s toenails. Like did it get a mani/pedi. If you haven’t heard this before, you‘re hearing it now. I tell you what I know. Plus there was a pit stop at Jerry’s favorite Manhattan food street cart. Hey, a falafel in every pot, I always say. About Walter Cronkite I’m not sure, but anyone know if this is how Edward R. Murrow started?
I finished Knopf’s new “Sleeping With the Enemy: Coco Chanel’s Secret War.” She didn’t just doze with Nazis. She fraternized, spied, worked for them. The SS commandeered Paris’ chic Ritz Hotel. She alone was permitted to live there.
A good novel is B’way producer Mitchell Maxwell’s “Little Did I Know.” Out in October, it’s ProspectaPress. Stuff we love — passion, greed, determination, theater, sex, corruption.
One more. NY Post reporter Maureen Callahan’s “Poker Face: The Rise and Rise of Lady Gaga.” Relates bisexuality, YouTube rumors she might be a man, calls her music “essentially unoriginal, dancing weak, beauty unconventional” and “so needy she can’t be left alone.” Nice read.
Tomorrow Doyle’s auctions New Yorker Douglas Fairbanks’ estate plus treasures of his father, Douglas Fairbanks Sr., who left us in 1939. Junior, who died in 2000, made 75 films.
Why the sale? “Our Park Avenue apartment was too crowded,” said widow Vera Fairbanks. “His California office, New York office, and three storage rooms were full.” As I pawed old Rolodex numbers of Hepburn, Garbo, ex-wife Crawford, the Cyrus Vance Sr. father of our district attorney, she reminded me I’d scooped their 1991 marriage in Fifth Avenue’s St. Thomas Church.
We just lost actor Cliff Robertson, who’s second wife was Dina Merrill, won an Oscar for “Charly,” closed off a dance floor to waltz with daughter Heather, did Therapeutic Riding Center tournaments and tennis with Sidney Poitier, told me he planned to glide over Mount Everest, was elected to the USO Board of Governors, emcee’d a TV series from the Vatican. Such a man should not leave without applause. Cliff Robertson was a class act.
As I write, tears flood my face. We’re alive. Safe. 9/11’s memorial is over. We survived.
It’s thanks to Mayor Mike Bloomberg, Police Commissioner Ray Kelly, the NYPD. And Secret Service guys, jackets open — the easier to get their guns. Prayers of gratitude to our Fire Department, First Responders, doctors like Robert Lahita who captained Jersey’s triage area. And those who 10 years ago guided us through — Giuliani, Bush, Schumer, Pataki. Appreciation to Cuomo of NY and Christie of NJ.
Praise to today’s hardworking reporters. Darlene Rodriguez’s flowing hair pulled properly taut. Cindy Hsu, Pat Battle in respectful clothing. Chris Wragge, Maurice DuBois, Michael Gargiulo, Pablo Guzmá¡n in suits and ties appropriate.
We’re the greatest country on Earth. No. 1 city on the planet. This world has always been jealous of us. They tried in World War I. They tried Dec. 7, 1941. They tried 9/11/01.
But New Yorkers are special. Tough. Smart. Resilient. One of a kind. That’s why we’re New Yorkers. If you can make it here, you can make it anywhere. We’re being cared for, beloved, watched over and protected.
Why? We’re needed, that’s why. We have to survive another day so we can complain about taxes, traffic, unemployment, subways, health care. So we can holler at elected officials. That’s what we’re here for. If not for us to do it, then who?
And no son of a bitch from any part of this globe can ever take that away.
Saturday night, the Plaza, 300 guests from Paramount chairman Brad Grey to wall-to-wall Tisches and Scottos. The Jurist–Zalaznick wedding. So high-class that I wasn’t even invited. People stayed until 2:30 a.m. After midnight came banana splits. At 1 a.m. late snacks from Katz’s Deli.
Only in New York, kids, only in New York.