Koch’s mouth and gizzard told it like it is. A Frank Perdue look-alike, the voice, which sounded like the tearing of a rag, told me about civilization’s beloved, adored, cherished Mother Teresa: “She’s only hustling for money. She’s just another player.”
“I rarely support anyone who was against me. I have a long memory”. . . When producer Alex Cohen called John Lindsay the greatest mayor: “I hate Cohen.” About Boston: “It’s Podunk.”. . . About Broadway: “Why worry about Broadway? It isn’t going anywhere.”
Authorized himself to sing “New York, New York” for a charity . . . Did a morning show in his p.j.’s . . . Wanted a new book titled “President”. . . About his Inner Circle smart-assisms: “I was great this year.”. . . About his title: “I prefer Your Eminence to Your Honor or to be called Edward Irving the First” . . . “Wish I could say, ‘How’m I doing?’ in Latin.”
Told me in ’84: “I want to be mayor forever.”. . . “When my life’s filmed I don’t want Paul Newman to play me. He’s too old.” And I want Gregory Peck to play my father. (Both are now gone.)
He toured Japan telling the locals: “Eat tuna from Montauk.”. . . He appointed Judges Judy Sheindlin and husband Gerald Sheindlin to the bench . . . After an energy brownout and election blackout, “What next, God, locusts?”
A confirmed nosher and nighttime snacker, I saw him consume David Liederman’s muffins, Campagnola pasta, White Horse Inn chili . . . chow mein at Fu’s while Dinkins sweated over the budget . . . hors d’oeuvres at a charity dinner . . . French food at Colombe d’Or . . . deli at delis . . . prune danish at Ellen’s Café . . . arroz con pollo at Victor’s Café . . . Channukah foods at Gracie Mansion . . . triple-decker hot brisket at Katz’s . . . steak with his brother Harold at Nickel’s. Stew in Ireland he did without me.
A favorite memory. Canadian Ambassador Ken Taylor (the real-life hero of Ben Affleck’s “Argo”) gave him a small, exclusive sit-down dinner 25 years ago. A socialite, between us, disappeared but Ken’s commodious Park Avenue apartment john door stuck. Wouldn’t let her out. Ken had to help hack her way out. She was missing 45 minutes but, not one to think much beside himself, Koch only said: “I never even noticed she was gone.”
DALLAS is now home to the President George W. Bush soon-to-officially open presidential library.
Last week he and Laura gave 50 to 75 supporters, staffers, donors a first — but unpublicized — view of GWBush’s $400 million presidential library. Senior’s library is on the A&M campus in Austin. Can’t upstage Daddy, so Junior’s is on the site of Laura’s alma mater, SMU. The juniors live in upscale high-class big-money Preston Hollow, Texas. Crawford’s his old original hometown.
W’s big monument opens officially April 25, when an expected 1,200 — including every living president — will crush into gridlock. He said: “Glad you’re here today because at the official opening it’ll be so crowded, I won’t be able to speak to you all.”
W’s edifice is simple. His architect: “He’s a man of the people. We wanted the building to reflect that.” After W’s personally led walkthrough, he fed the guests at the country club.
I heard but couldn’t confirm that frail Daddy Bush attended but arrived late. Snacks served were hometownish. Burgers, beans. Texan hombres don’t chow snails and caviar.
Oddly, humans who’ve visited when he lived in Crawford say, “He hadn’t any books in the house. We looked. None.” About those 100,000 documents now to be housed there, our last president joked: “I’ll have Dad read them to me.”
MARCHING to the legit thittir is Woody Allen’s 1994 comedy “Bullets Over Broadway.” As a musical. He’s writing the book himself. The movie starred John Cusack, Dianne Weist, Jennifer Tilly, Chazz Palminteri. He wants 2007 Tony winner Christine (“Grey Gardens”) Ebersole for the lead. He was with her the other night.
LISTEN, I apologize. I’m sorry. I beg everyone’s pardon — but am I the only one who doesn’t give a scrimmage about football? Super Bowl . . . shmuper bowl. Grown guys rushing around tagging each other and playing with balls? I mean, please.
I also apologize. And I’m sorry. And I again beg everyone’s pardon — but am I the only one who thinks that at this sensitive moment our Oval Office occupant, Bam, going bam-bam with a skeet gun is sane? I mean, please.
CHELSEA Piers. Ring 12. The Labs will stretch their paws on a pre-Westminster strut before next Tuesday’s Best in Show at the Garden. More than 2,500 of the world’s top dogs fly in from everywhere, trying out within their own kind to win Best of Breed at assorted events, in front of judges, in advance of Feb. 12.
Mitch, a 4-year-old Grand Champion yellow Lab — official moniker, Hedgelawn’s Sharper Image — is like Beyoncé, copping p.r. Grabbed the cover of the magazine “Labrador Quarterly,” to which you may not have a subscription.
Mitch’s co-owners are trainer/handler Tom Flaherty and Yankees president Randy Levine, who owns three rescue dogs. The ancestry includes his great uncle Mr. Reid, who was also Randy’s first dog, went to city hall when Randy was deputy mayor and accompanied him everywhere for 16 years.
Only in New York, kids, only in New York.