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| 12:00 PM. Photo: JH. |
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| Tuesday, July 13, 2010. Yesterday was hot and sunny in New York but not humid; a beautiful day. It’s a quiet time in the big town right now. There are a lot of tourists but you don’t see them in the neighborhoods of the Upper East and West Sides. There’s always something going on in the city but there’s really nothing going on. School’s out. This “nothing” means that there’s often less traffic, that people are out walking more for leisure. There are concerts and dance theatre and gallery openings. Some restaurants are busy while others have lost business with the season. A cabbie told me that it had been quiet and quieter so far this summer. He didn’t expect it to pick up until September when “people come back.”
In the back half are tufted leather wooden booths and a row of tables for two. No frills. Besides the menu, there’s a blackboard in the back of the room with the day’s specials with prices, written in chalk. The food’s what we call “homestyle,” meat and potatoes. The drinks are ample. The service is friendly and unfazed. How good is it? The same people you might see at the top restaurants in the world, also go to Donohue’s. It’s home, man. And the crowd is neighborhood. The operative word is “neighborhood.” This isn’t just any. Park Avenue is just down the block. Across the street is the building where Bernie Madoff and wife lived in the penthouse. They went to Donohue’s for dinner often. David Rockefeller lives around the corner, although I don’t know that he’s ever been a customer. Spike Lee lives around another corner. So, not surprisingly, the clientele at Donohue’s is “upscale.” And the prices on the menu are a bargain no matter where you are in the city. It’s one of those places that is famous with the famous and popular because it’s not famous. Liz had the fried chicken with potato and vegetable. I had the same; broccoli and baked potato. Peter had the scrod. There’s a little bit of that sitting around the kitchen having a casual supper to the whole thing.
When Garbo and her friend Gaylord Hauser were house guests of Francis Carpenter, Liz and Lee Bailey saw her frequently because she and her friend always crossed Bailey's lawn when they walked down to the beach, although they were told not to speak to her. Other than the lawn-crossings, they never saw the reclusive star. When she and Hauser came to stay, Francis would explain whatever everyone already knew: “I’m sorry I can’t have you over when Harriet Brown is here.” Garbo liked to use the name Harriet Brown when she traveled. She had a fetish about her “privacy” and made everyone else accommodate it. It was a classic manipulation of a narcissist (or, as Norma Desmond would have said: a legendary movie star), and it was even more successful than her career. We also had a laugh of the two “ladies” a la Eve in the swimming pool. Liz also identified the other “lady” in the photograph that Ellen Graham took of Francis Carpenter in the pool giving the old girl bent over a slap on the buttsky. She was Dorothy Strelsin, a name unfamiliar to most people today but well known in New York social and cultural circles in the 40s through the 80s. A former singer she married a multimillionaire New York businessman named Al Strelsin who collected art and invested in show business projects.
She was one of those people you might meet in a large international city who seems to have connections all over the world and seems to be glad to see everyone. I knew her only casually but Dorothy liked “to mix it up,” in other words she knew all kinds of people. Franco Zeffirelli was a friend and often rented the place or stayed as a houseguest when he was in town working. I knew her casually out there since we had mutual friends. European princes, movie stars, Wall Street bankers, opera stars, Broadway stars, socialites and gigolos; they all passed through the portals of chez Strelsin and were charmed by the generous spirit of their hostess. It was one of those conversations at dinner where you’re enriched by the recollection and experience of someone who has seen and known more. This is especially true in Liz’ company because despite her now long life, she has miraculously maintained the child’s ability to wonder. This is perhaps her blessing and secret in life. Mind you, she’s also a naturally curious girl. These kinds of reminiscences from someone who was “there” are always compelling to this writer, especially when they come from someone so mindful of her environment. The era of that New York four and five decades ago, as Liz pointed out last night, was fun and even wild “but there were still some manners that everyone had.” However, under the circumstances last night at this very comme il faut Upper East Side eatery, at this very quiet time of the year (and peaceful also, thankfully), New York was once again reminding us of its infinite variety, possibilities and generosity. Meanwhile from out there in the green pastures of celebrity comes the news that Tinsley Mortimer’s reality show will not be showing her reality next season. Page Six reported that she and her mother and sister really didn’t like having to “act” out situations that were not true. It is understandable. Reality TV shows are just a texted soap opera. They are our own little 21st century gladiatorial games where, in this case, women bat each other silly. For money. A knockdown drag out screaming, ripping cat fight between Tinsley and Olivia Palermo is now really the only way to go. If it happens I hope the girls’ agents get them big bucks because they’ll deserve it. On another note, I saw this item on Gawker yesterday. I watched very little of this tragic event because I couldn’t take it. It begs the larger question about these creatures and about us, as creatures. It’s something to seriously think about. If you watch [1], also read the Comments it evoked. |
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Comments? Contact DPC here. [2] |