The Kingdom of New York: Knights, Knaves, Billionaires, and Beauties in the City of Big Shots

by The New York Observer

  Illustrated by Drew Friedman

  Then there’s the other reason: “New York is the No. 1 hometown of the professional yenta,” said public relations executive Dan Klores.

  Professional yentas, pay attention: The New York Observer 500 was culled from the New York Post’s Page Six, Neal Travis and Cindy Adams; Newsday’s Liz Smith (who ended the year at the post); the Daily News’ Rush and Molloy and Hot Copy; Women’s Wear Daily’s Suzy column; New York magazine’s Intelligencer page; and The New Yorker’s Talk of the Town section. A small army of staff members and freelancers logged all of the names that appeared in these columns between Dec. 1, 1994, and Nov. 30, 1995. Approximately 40,100 entries were fed into a computer program that tabulated and cross-indexed the entries. From that database, the 500 names with the most mentions were chosen, the first annual 500.

  In addition to demonstrating who is foremost in the minds of the city’s gossips, the 500 names on this census, and order in which they appear, form a sort of pointillist portrait of New York culture over the last year. At the top, no surprise, is O.J. Simpson. The 359 mentions that Mr. Simpson received—177 more than the No. 2 finisher, Madonna—demonstrates just how much Mr. Simpson’s story dominated the media last year, especially since the lion’s share of the “trial of the century” was found in the news pages and not in the gossip columns.

  Between his Bronco ride and the verdict, Mr. Simpson and his case often became the New York media equivalent of white noise: distracting, yet devoid of any real value for the city. Underneath, real issues percolated, but no one seemed able to focus on them.

  Rudolph Giuliani’s third-place finish indicates that the state of the city is an issue we could focus on. The mayor has promoted himself as a much-needed architect of change for the city. And anyone who promises change in a city of seven million opinionated cynics—especially when it comes to government—immediately becomes a conflict magnet. Conflict, of course, is the infrastructure of any great gossip item. Mr. Giuliani’s Observer 500 ranking also suggests that he may have been overly concerned that his police commissioner, William Bratton, was stealing too much of his public relations thunder. Although Mr. Bratton (87) ranked within the top 100, his 38 column mentions paled in comparison to Mr. Giuliani’s 174.

  Among the rumors contributing to the mayor’s big finish were those linking him to his press secretary, Cristyne Lategano (460). Regardless of their veracity, the gossip suggested that Mr. Giuliani was spending a lot of time at the office.

  Glancing through the top 20, there is only one person who stands out as not being an active member of the meritocracy: Elizabeth Taylor (10), who is essentially a lapsed member. Save for her cameo in The Flintstones, Ms. Taylor has not acted in a film for years. As work-related matters go, 1995 was another big year for media moguls. Deals were made and broken; executives were hired and fired. Many of the stars of these deals can be found in the top 100: Steven Spielberg (21), David Geffen (35) and Jeffrey Katzenberg (83) of Dreamworks SKG; Edgar Bronfman Jr. (34), the new chief of MCA; Michael Ovitz (28), whom Mr. Bronfman almost hired, but who ultimately landed at Disney, nearly wrecking his old place of business, Creative Artists Agency. (Memo to Michael Eisner: Compare your ranking to Mr. Ovitz, but not before taking your heart medication.)

  In fact, much of the 500 is revealed to be a hardworking albeit glamorous crowd. There aren’t too many Brenda Fraziers on the list. Socialites and the international aristocracy comprise only 10 percent (see chart). The rest of the finishers, with the exception of certain players in the O.J. Simpson opera—see Kato Kaelin (29)—are careerists of some sort.

  What’s interesting is that the nouveaux riche, whose conspicuous consumption and decadent entertaining were the sources of many items (and much derision) in the 1980’s, were dropped or were pushed from sight. Henry Kravis (192) and Susan and John Gutfreund (371 and 410) placed, but hardly in the high style to which they are accustomed. And Saul and Gayfryd Steinberg, who once hired models to pose nude as statues at one of their soirees, did not even make the list. This only exception to the rule seems to be Ron Perelman, who ranked 31st. Last year was a big one for Mr. Perelman. He got married to Patricia Duff (213) and added another child to his brood. And his liaisons with Rupert Murdoch (213) and Brandon Tartikoff seemed to have bolstered his media and mogul image. Nevertheless, his high ranking suggests that the press might want to stop referring to Mr. Perelman as publicity-shy.

  Hitching one’s star to the Hollywood power clique greatly increases the chances of anointment in the columns. Left Coast commodities both behind and in front of the camera racked up 167 spots, accounting for a full third of the list. Movie stars and moguls have long been staples of the New York columns. Some of it has to do with the fact that Los Angeles is a company town where the Los Angeles Times edits the city’s only newspaper gossip column, Liz Smith’s, with a mighty heavy hand. That makes the New York columns the primary outlet for film industry scuttlebutt. And Hollywood coverage by the New York columns has only increased since New York society ran for cover and left a big void.

  But this year, Hollywood’s showing may have been aided by another phenomenon. Some of Hollywood’s leading lights, tired of earthquakes and mudslides and riots, began spending more time in Manhattan. In some cases, those who didn’t already have places in the city bought them. And New York columnists seemed to respond to those stars who visited home turf. With the exception of Sylvester Stallone (16), who left Los Angeles for Miami, the highest-placing film celebrities were those who either kept a home in New York or spent a lot of time here. In the top 50, there’s Mr. Spielberg, who recently traded in his apartment in Trump Tower for the San Remo and who spends a lot time at his East Hampton estate; Julia Roberts (35), who recently moved to Greenwich Village; Tom Hanks (36); who bought on Fifth Avenue; Woody Allen (38) and Robert DeNiro (39), who have long made New York their home; Long Island boy Alec Baldwin (43) and even Brad Pitt (44), who always seemed to be in town.

  There is one practice in public relations to which few self-respecting flacks want to be linked. It’s a practice that has existed since the days of Winchell and is perhaps the most concrete example of a celebrity’s currency. In that process, a publicist will feed a columnist a number of juicy items that have no fingerprints and no strings attached to any of the publicist’s clients. To reciprocate, the columnist will then place a “contract” item—an item that lacks the usual gossip edge and promotes the publicist’s client. Thus the celebrity of one person is traded to gain celebrity for another.

  Sometimes, the result is that one publicist steps on another’s toes, such as when Nick & Toni’s regular Peggy Siegal plants items about the East Hampton restaurant’s star-studded patrons before the restaurant’s own publicists has a chance. Often the trade-off is conducted for personal gains—Hillary Rodham Clinton, under fire from the press, went to America’s database and brokered an exchange with a number of female journalists, including Cindy Adams and Liz Smith. More than once, Mrs. Clinton allowed access to both herself and the White House, and in return, she was humanized by the columnists.

  * * *

  If celebrity is the currency, then gossip is the coin of the realm, an alloy of information and fame that can create opportunities, careers, even people.

  * * *

  OCTOBER 16, 1995 BY CHARLES V. BAGLI

  GIULIANI TOPS WHITMAN WITH SICKLY SWEET BID TO KEEP COMMODITIES

  THE GIULIANI ADMINISTRATION HAS PUT TOGETHER THE LARGEST corporate subsidy package in New York history to keep the city’s commodity exchanges from moving to New Jersey.

  With the governing boards of the Coffee, Sugar & Cocoa Exchange scheduled to vote Oct. 11 on an offer from Gov. Christine Todd Whitman of New Jersey, city and state officials in New York suddenly countered on Oct. 3 with a package of cash and tax breaks worth up to $80.5 million if the exchanges remain in New York. Taken together with the $183.9 million in subsidies granted to the Mercantile Exchange last year, New York has offered more th
an $264 million to the commodity industry, at a time when city and state governments are slashing budgets for transit, job training, education and welfare.

  But it’s unclear whether the Giuliani administration can derail the deal in New Jersey. On Oct. 10, the directors of the Cotton Exchange voted unanimously to accept the Jersey offer.

  New York’s strenuous effort to keep the exchanges has raised eyebrows even in the financial community. “There’s something screwy here,” said Michael Keenan, deputy chairman of the finance department at New York University’s Stern School of Business. “It sounds like a lot of money for the benefit. There are questions about the long-term viability of the exchanges and their actual contribution to the economy.”

  OCTOBER 16, 1995 BY ERIK HEDEGAARD

  Meet Ms. New York—Penny Crone! A Spiky, Fiery, Lusty, Fox 5 Gal

  Illustrated by Barry Blitt

  AS FAR AS FOX NEWS IS CONCERNED, Penny Crone is a lot more than Penny Crone. At a minimum, of course, Penny Crone is the 48-year-old, Emmy-winning, 10 O’Clock News Fox reporter with the spiky, native-hut hairdo; ever-flapping mouth; short skirts (“They can’t hurt”); ankle bracelet (“Is that stupid? Is that out of style?”); nails-in-her-windpipe laugh; and deep, barfly-type voice that once spent some time calling Yogi Berra Yogi Bear. About her and her work in the city, everybody has an opinion. Jerry Nachman, vice president of news at WCBS TV, said, “I find her fascinating. I can’t not watch her; it’s sort of like a train wreck: horrific and compelling. Sometimes I’ll tell my reporters, ‘Watch Penny Crone.’ She’s got contempt for the camera, which is a great fucking trick; if there was a giant anchovy hanging out of her nose, she’d keep on talking.” A veteran newsman who likes to speak anonymously said, “I admire her doggedness and her tenacity but, Jesus Christ, I find her sort of a pain in the ass.”

  Penny herself takes this view of the situation: “I’m just Penny.” You have to agree that’s saying a lot; Fox, however, knows it is still far from the truth. Over at Fox, they like to say, “Penny is New York!”

  On a day in early October, at 2 P.M., shortly before her workday began, Penny dropped into an outside seat at Soleil, a Third Avenue restaurant.

  “Right now, I’m in contract discussions with Fox,” she went on. “So I’m sitting with my agent outside somewhere talking about salaries, with these two old ladies eating their lunch and listening to us talk. Something came up about another reporter making some huge kind of money and I went ballistic. My agent said, ‘This person has lots of contacts with cops.’ I said, ‘Contacts? I’ve fucked 6,000 cops!’”

  Penny roared.

  NOVEMBER 6, 1995 BY THOMAS HUDSON

  MAD MARIO CANTONE ON BROADWAY: ‘LOVE ME, LOVE MY HAIRY ASS!’

  IN A RARE FEW HOURS OFF from his burgeoning career in the legitimate theat-ah, Mario Cantone arrived 15 minutes late at Carolines comedy club in Times Square. A gaggle of photographers shot his picture by the bar. The club was sold out, and Mr. Cantone surveyed the crowd. He has alarmingly white teeth, a slightly hooked nose, big sunken eyes, thick eyebrows, a shock of bushy black hair.

  “Yeah, I’m a Broadway actor now, but I used to have a kids show,” he said into the microphone, referring to his days as host of Steampipe Alley, a low-budget program of pure kiddie mayhem. “It was five years of booze and dope.” Mr. Cantone was in good voice and so he unleashed a Jerry Lewis-like howl: “Five years of pills and drugs!”

  A rush of laughter from the cocktail tables. There was Mortimer Zuckerman busting a gut.

  Yes, the people there were with Mario Cantone, feeling they’d stumbled upon what all New Yorkers crave. That is, Someone New.

  NOVEMBER 27, 1995 BY CANDACE BUSHNELL

  SEX AND THE CITY: He Loves His Little Meeskeit, But He Won’t Take Her Home to Mom

  WALDEN’S FIANCÉE WAS OUT of town at a collagen convention. On his own, Walden always got lonely. It reminded him of a time when he had really been lonely, for months on end that seemed to drag into years. And it always brought him around to the same memory, of the woman who had made him feel better, and of what he’d done to her.

  Walden met her at a party filled with very pretty people. This being Manhattan, she was nicely dressed in a short black dress that showed off breasts that were on the large side. But she had a modest face. Beautiful long black hair, though. Ringlets. “They always have one great feature,” Walden said, and took a sip of his martini.

  Libby had gone to Columbia undergrad, Harvard grad school. She talked to him about law. She told him about her childhood, growing up with four sisters in North Carolina. She was 27 and had a grant to make a documentary. She leaned forward and removed a hair from his sweater. “Mine,” she said, and laughed. They talked for a long time. He finished a second beer.

  “Do you want to come over to my place?” she asked.

  Libby was definitely a one-night stand. She wasn’t pretty enough to date, to be seen with in public.

  “But what does that mean, really?” Stephen interrupted.

  “I just thought she was uglier than me,” Walden said.

  When they got to Libby’s apartment—a basic two-bedroom in a high-rise on Third Avenue that she shared with her cousin—she opened the refrigerator and took out a beer. When she bent over in the refrigerator light, he saw that she was a little on the heavy side. She turned around and unscrewed the cap and handed the bottle to him. “I just want you to know,” she said. “I really want to have sex with you.”

  “I found myself very uninhibited,” Walden said. “Because she wasn’t pretty. The stakes were lower; the emotion higher. There wasn’t any pressure because I knew I couldn’t date her.” He fell asleep with his arms around her.

  “The next morning,” Walden said, “I woke up and felt at ease. Very relaxed. I’d been feeling tormented for some time and, with Libby, I suddenly felt peaceful. It was the first honest emotional connection I’d had in a while. So I immediately panicked and had to leave.”

  DECEMBER 11, 1995 BY JIM WINDOLF

  HE DID HER, SO MERRILL DOES DAVE: CONFESSIONS OF EX-MS. LATE NIGHT

  SHE CAME UP WITH A SOLUTION for the introduction problem. David Letterman could come out and say: “And now, the only guest this evening with whom I’ve had oral sex, Merrill Markoe!”

  Instead, Dave introduced her in his polite and sincere mode: “Our next guest had a long relationship with this show and, uh, yours truly.”

  It would look funny if the host of Late Show With David Letterman didn’t refer to their past. On the other hand, she’s got a book out in paperback now, and people should know she’s a writer and she’s doing all right and she certainly doesn’t think of herself as Dave’s ex, so why introduce her that way?

  “She has since been lucky enough to move on to greener pastures and this is a copy, now in paperback, of her very, very funny book, How to Be Hap-Hap-Happy Like Me. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome back Merrill Markoe. Merrill!”

  * * *

  GEORGE GURLEY INTERVIEWS GRAYDON CARTER

  Illustrated by Barry Blitt

  Well, I really had a wonderful time at The Observer. At one point after we sold Spy, I wanted to start up a newspaper that would cover the city socio-professionally, rather than geographically. I was sort of off-handedly raising money for it, when I bumped into Arthur Carter at a dinner party in Connecticut, and asked him if he’d be interested. He said, “Listen, why don’t you come and do it at The Observer?” I don’t know if you’ve looked at those early Observers, but they were pretty sleepy. But I thought I might as well learn the newspaper game on somebody else’s dime, so I accepted Arthur’s offer.

  I took two weeks off after leaving Spy, and worked on a 9-month, 12-month, 18-month plan, so that the day I walked in there, I would have a rough idea of what I was going to do. The first two days were just spent cleaning house. I don’t mean firing people and such. I mean, physically cleaning the offices, which were a mess.

  Aimee Bell, who I brought over from Spy, and
I then went to work on the actual newspaper. Have I mentioned how sleepy it was? It was like the most dreary Metro section you’ve ever read in your life. Acres of stories about community board meetings and photographs of park benches. A number of the columnists were seriously dusty. But for the first three or four months, I just let them be and the dustiest of them just gradually faded away. I thought I shouldn’t knock what was there when I arrived, and that it was best not to alienate the old readers before I got some new ones.

  Also, we had no money. One thing I used to do was to take all the British newspapers home on the weekend, and tear out all these great profiles of literary and theater figures, stories on books that were about to come out, and wonderful features about New York. Aimee and I would get on the phone Monday morning and scoop up the syndication rights, often for as little as a pound. I’d then get Barry Blitt to do an illustration, and that was the way a lot of our features found their way into the paper.

  I had a small, narrow office in the Observer townhouse and had a long desk built in. I bought a refractory table and this beautiful green leather barrel chair for guests. I assume it’s still in Peter Kaplan’s office. I loved coming over to the East Side; I would arrive most mornings at 6:30 and be the only person there for two or three hours. There was a casement window at the end of my office that had a lovely view of the garden below. I was really very happy there.

  Did you have fun with Arthur at lunch?