There's been a lot of perfectly understandable chauvinism here in New York in recent days, the World Series and all that.
People who never saw a game in Yankee Stadium in their lives are taking credit. You'd think they helped Charlie Hayes catch that final out. The mayor hasn't been home in a week he's been shaking so many hands and accepting congratulations. When they disrupted traffic at the Lincoln Tunnel at dawn the other morning so some floats could be driven into Manhattan for the big parade, motorists didn't do what they usually do around here, which is to honk their horns, curse and snap off the middle-finger salute.
They got out of their cars and applauded the floats.
We've got to do something about all this. This town's in danger of becoming friendly.
Thank God for Howie Karpen (I think that's how he spells it) of WCBS radio, the all-news station. He got to do a curtain-raiser for the big parade and he said it would "go down Broadway before ending at City Hall." The parade actually began at the Battery and went up Broadway to end at City Hall. Here's a space cadet who has one story to report that morning and he doesn't know up from down.
The Seventh Avenue fashion collections are on. Which means that all the out-of-town buyers are in Manhattan. Whatever good will was engendered by the Yankees will shortly be dissipated by the fashion designers and the out-of-town buyers.
The night before the parade, I went to a dinner party at River House hosted by Alexandra Penney who does nifty things for the Ziff magazine folks and used to be editor of Conde Nast's Self. River House is where Dr. Kissinger and other famous folk live and has splendid views of the East River, Long Island City and the Pepsi sign. In Paris, if you have a river view you see the Tour Eiffel across there. In London, you might see Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament. In Manhattan, a river view gets you the Pepsi sign.
When I walked over, there were a couple of cops on 52nd Street and then I saw a couple of fairly discreet cars with Secret Service guys lurking. At the front step of River House there was Barbaralee Diamondstein-Spielvogel mounting guard. Hello, Barbaralee, I said, and got an air kiss in return or nearly so. Barbaralee is a very famous New York person who writes and speaks eloquently in defense of landmarks and such and she and her husband, Carl, whom you may know from Madison Avenue, raise a lot of money for Democrats.
Barbaralee Diamondstein-Spielvogel also has the longest name this side of Voostenwalbert Schimmelpennick, who was a character in "Hans Brinker or the Silver Skates."And she is a big pal of the Clintons and that's why the cops and S.S. men were there because the very elegant Robin Duke was giving a little party for Hillary. I checked my invitation to be sure I was there for Alexandra Penney's party and not Robin Duke's and up I went to a smashing dinner and views of the Pepsi sign.
That same night GQ took over Radio City Music Hall to honor their "men of the year." This time around Art Cooper decided these should be: Mel Gibson, Michael Jordan and Seinfeld. Then he also got Phil Collins to entertain. A couple of days later there was a big luncheon honoring Helen Gurley Brown and starring not only Helen but Brooke Shields, who has this hot new show on television. All these shows on television about media women like "Murphy Brown" really owe it all to Helen Gurley Brown (are they related, all these "Browns"?) and I think that should be noted. That same day they had New York's "Magazine Day" and I was there to introduce Calvin "Bud" Trillin of The New Yorker and other fame, a grand writer and good fellow.
While over at the American Museum of Natural History, the women who run the place, Chairman Anne Sidamon-Eristoff and President Ellen V. Futter, were unveiling a great new show that sort of put all of us properly in our place. Even Hillary and the Yankees and Barbaralee Diamondstein-Spielvogel: Leonardo da Vinci's Codex Leicester, the original manuscript lent to the museum through Jan. 1 by Bill Gates, who owns it.
Great stuff. Out-of-town buyers and Seinfeld ought to get over there to Central Park West and catch this one. I was so stunned by the entire display and especially Leonardo's mirror script (he writes backwards!) I had to retreat for a time to the rotunda for a cool refreshment, where a nice lady asked me if I were a curator.
I was so pleased I was ready to forgive Steinbrenner.