This book was intended as a paean to a city that no longer exists, and a tour of a magical and lethal landscape for those who never knew it. It was marvelous, rich, and dynamic, and in it lived the sweethearts and the darlings of my youth. Some were destroyed, but most were not, and to all, both living and dead, I offer this scrapbook of our youth. It would not have been written had their memories not stayed so clear and cherished in my heart. I embrace them all.
Anne and Mame Kennedy, sisters who came and conquered, Peter Nadin, Katherine Rayner Johnson, who moved me to love her profoundly at first sight, in every detail down to the red shoes, and whose memory is alive and with me every day, may she live forever, Ty French and Rick Grimaldi, gone savagely and too soon, though not uncared for, Dale Engelson Sessa, who found her prince, Shirts, who once told me, “A clean bar is a happy bar,” good words to live by, Holly Woodlawn, who left me knowing that I would never in my life be fully alone, David Gould, a king and a priest and a true and good friend unlike any other, Jeanne Voltz and The Dutchman, Catherine and David Dunn, Eugene Orza, Nancy and Bonnie Axthelm, the Sisters Karamozov, Bob and Lynn who came and never left, whom I admire and thank every day with all my heart, and, of course, Hazel and Mariah, Susan Sarandon, who illuminates far many more lives than my own, Jean Pagliuso, Tommy Cohen, Diane Sokolow, John Loeffler, Kathleeen Seltzer and Diana Van Fossen, two more graceful creatures never walked the earth, Larry and Penny Bach, Sally and Larry Mann, Tommy Spencer, Nora Champe Leary, Dana Hoey, Jan Groover, who showed me finally what I looked like, Dan Zanes, who saved my life, Alexandra Como Saghir, so many, so many . . . if I have forgotten to mention you, do not think you are forgotten, their names and faces and voices fill my mind at random moments every day, and my love for them endures everything—the changing of the times, the fluctuations of fortune, the cruelties of age. In my mind they are happy and well and alive. I hope I die before they do. To live without them would be unbearable.
Also, for Lynn Nesbit and Ellen Goldsmith-Vein. I hope and trust they know why.
And, of course, for Guy Trebay, who knew and survived the city far better than I, with grace and brilliance, and whose genius for friendship surpasses any I have ever known. More anon.
acknowledgments