Writing this book would not have been possible without the help of many people. First, I want to thank Alec Wilkinson, who is just about the best guy I know. Also, Ian Frazier, from whom I learned that serious people can be funny, funny people can be serious. And Sara Barret, David Lipsky, Jim Albrecht, C. S. Ledbetter III, Helen Thorpe, Melissa Roth, Todd Clark, Ralph and Renee Blumenthal, Debra Eisenstadt, Tad Floridis, Julie Bauer, Bill Brenner, Morris Liebman, Mark Varouxakis, Dennis Cohn, Brendan Lemon, Chris Knutsen, and my grandparents Benjamin and Betty Eisenstadt. I also want to acknowledge The New Yorker as it was when I got out of college, where, given a job as a messenger, I began pestering everyone with everything I had ever written. I especially want to thank those editors who gave me my first chance, Bob Gottlieb and Chip McGrath. I also owe a special debt to Jann Wenner, who brought me to Rolling Stone, where he has been less employer than friend, a patron who has given me so many opportunities. Also at Rolling Stone thanks to Bob Love, Sid Holt, Tobias Perse, Tom Conroy, and Will Dana. At Simon & Schuster I want to thank Dominick Anfuso and Ana DeBevoise. I am also grateful to Jessica Tuchinsky, at Creative Artists, who has become a good friend. And then my agent, Andrew Wylie, who is like Reggie was with the Yanks—the straw that stirs the drink. Also at the Wylie Agency I want to thank Jeff Posternak.
And, of course, Jessica Medoff, the one who is awakened when I have a dumb idea in the middle of the night, without whose support and insight I would not have finished this book.
Mostly I want to thank my parents, the Herb and Ellen of my best stories; my sister, Sharon Levin, and my brother-in-law, Bill Levin; my brother, Steven Cohen, and his wife, Lisa Melmed. And also down in North Miami Beach, the true promised land of the Jews, I want to thank my grandma Esther, thank her and say, “No, Grandma, don’t send a brisket. We have plenty of food here in New York.”