Mike Jagger. Kim Kardashian. David Bowie.
I miss David Bowie.
“Sure, what would people like you do with a superstar?” You could counter.
Well, back in the late 1970’s, he bought Pierce Turner and I each a large brandy.
Wexford’s Turner & Kirwan were debuting some tracks from a sci-fi album, no less, at an uptown club called Hurray when some Yahoo yelled “Play Suffragette City” – a Bowie song we were known for.
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To which Turner sneered, “We’ll play it if David buys us a double brandy.”
Lo and behold, at the end of the set we were presented with two large Rémy Martins in fancy mugs, with a message of “Mr. Bowie” that while he loved our extraterrestrial explorations, he was honored to hear our version of his ditty.
New York was a very different place back then. David probably got into a checker cab on a whim and drove by by hooray. He had no security detail with him and left as discreetly as he came.
Kim Kardashian wouldn’t check in with the ladies these days without a couple of beefy bodyguards in tow.
Celebrities were as commonplace as cockroaches in old New York City. When my brother Jemmy was plying his trade as a waterproofer on the facade of the Carlyle Hotel, Mick Jagger once yelled, “Jesus on high, can’t a man get a decent night’s sleep in this kip?”
That was nothing compared to the obscene tongue lashes he received from Lauren Bacall while supporting the Dakota.
One of his crew members was so stunned he wanted to whisper, “I wonder what Bogie ever saw in her?”
Lest you think this column is dedicated to name-dropping, I’ll refrain from mentioning my favorite Hendrix story, which involved a window frame removing an inch from one of Jimi’s divine fingers.
Andy Warhol put it right – everyone is a star these days, but rather than their projected 15 minutes of fame, you better use your 15 seconds wisely.
I can barely walk down my block for fear of losing an eye — there are so many wannabe Kardashians brandishing selfie sticks while grabbing their iPhones like crazy.
Can anyone tell me what the Kardashians are famous for? I’ve been out of the celebrity loop since the Murdochs stopped flogging The Post on the subways. And don’t tell me to read it online! I’m already wasting so much time in the digital underworld that I can barely find an hour in the pub.
Speaking of which, what’s the biggest cultural loss in New York City since the pandemic hit us?
dive bars! Remember that hole in the wall you visited whenever your spouse or significant other questioned your authority or sanity? Yes, the venerable pub has gone with the wind – and the astronomical rents.
The next thing you know, Paddy Reilly’s, the nightlife bastion, is closing and Steve Duggan is going home to manage the Cavan Senior Football Team.
Archbishop John Hughes.
But New York has always been a changeable place. People laughed at Archbishop Dagger Hughes for building St. Patrick’s Cathedral in the rural glades of Fifth and Fifty-First.
Who would travel all the way there to do the Stations of the Cross? Does anyone even remember Nine First Fridays, let alone attend them – although I wouldn’t be surprised if you could watch them over the internet?
The city is changing and we are changing with it. Am I wrong, or was New York at its peak in the years leading up to 9/11? In a way, the city never seemed to recover, but I suppose that depends on your perspective.
I’ll knock on wood as I say it, but let’s say we’ve gotten over the curse of Covid. What kind of city will we inherit this time? One no doubt utterly divided by wealth, but when has that ever been the case?
And then you see the bright side of things: most of us are still standing; Although everything has changed in one arena, completely changed – the Mets now rule New York as we head into October.
And yet I still miss the good old days, when celebrities roamed free in Manhattan and David Bowie bought me a double brandy.
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