Society of the Silurians EXCELLENCE IN JOURNALISM AWARDS BANQUET The National Arts Club 15 Gramercy Park South Thursday, November 18th In honor of FRANK RICH Drinks: 6 p.m. Dinner: 7:15 p.m. Meet old friends Merriment e-mail: [email protected] Published by The Society of The Silurians, Inc. an organization of veteran New York City journalists founded in 1924 Reservations: by Charles Edward Russell, William O. Inglis, Perry Walton, and David G. Baillie. (212) 532-0887 Price: Members and Guests $95 THE OLDEST PRESS CLUB IN THE UNITED STATES NOVEMBER 2010 Frank Rich Winner of Silurians 2010 Lifetime Achievement Award Powerful Sunday Op-Ed Columnist for the New York Times Former Chief Theatre Critic: ‘The Butcher of Broadway’ By Eve Berliner a phantom presence in his life, leav- ing behind his Broadway record Like the single ghost light left burning collection. in the darkened theatre to ward off the The divorce had torn his world ghosts, a ghost light hovered over the asunder but it was the advent of childhood of Frank Rich, amid the dark his stepfather that wielded the days of fear and night terrors. second devastating blow. A rag- He resided in ing, unstable tyrant who assaulted the theatre of the vulnerable, including his mother, dreams. loved Broadway and was gener- He survived ous with theatre tickets. on his imagina- “Fear became my constant tion. companion,” Frank Rich would The players: write in the moving and incredible mother, father, memoir of his childhood, “Ghost sister and step- Light,” published in 2000, in which father, a com- he bares his soul. plex villain, vi- On one occasion, shouting cious. inches from his face, I will not His mother take any more crap from you, was his first in- young man, “Joel [his stepfa- Random House spiration, loved ther] slapped me to the ground the arts, a pas- with his huge hands. My brain felt sion for film and theatre and politics and as if it was knocking against my life. She would take Frank on what she head. Then he grabbed me by the would call their “Adventures,” his favor- ankles and started dragging me up ite, the dusty old brick mansion/museum, the road on my back, the dirt and miniature castle, known as The Phillips, ground scraping against my skin. with paintings on the walls of circus jug- We were at the next building – glers and ballerinas and baseball players some 50 yards away – before he in fields of dreams, collages of newspa- dropped me in a heap in the cen- pers and old bluejeans and tickets with ter of the road.” exotic foreign writing on them, a mixture On another occasion, he threw of the avant-garde and history and art and Courtesy of the Photographer, Ted Thai Frank down a flight of stairs. theatre. Frank Rich, in his days as chief theatre critic of the New York Times, circa 1980s. A dark aching subsumed the His parents were avid theatregoers, a young boy, worry about being shut living room filled with the music of Broad- sured Playbill collection. have me.” up in complete darkness when he went to way, and for Frank, long hours lost in the “I still have whatever she left behind.” Thus his love affair with the theatre bed, a chronic and severe problem of in- magic of his father’s sublime record col- he notes quietly. “I always think of my began in the womb. ability to sleep, anxiety, loneliness, nervous lection: South Pacific, Damn Yankees, mother listening to her beloved South Pa- His father faded away with the “sepa- sensations, panic, fear of the dark, fright- The Pajama Game, and his mother’s trea- cific when she went to the hospital to ration” when he was seven years of age, Continued on Page 5 ing the water taps and holding a a terse rejection: “ Eat (an expletive rhym- The Wit and Wisdom of the Mafia linen towel. With a gimlet stare, the ing with hit.)” By Selwyn Raab dapper don dried his hands, brush- Covering Cosa Nostra means you're ing past me without acknowledg- on your own. All that is required is perse- Forty plus years of plumbing the wit ing my presence. verance and a disregard for insults. I and wisdom of the Mafia was a cinch – a Another approach occurred on stumbled into the beat through a side door. piece of cake. An uncomplicated subject Sullivan Street in Greenwich Vil- In the 1960s, I was handling sedate edu- with few obstacles. No need to evade spin lage. I attempted to chat with cation stories on the old World Telegram physicians bent on misleading a reporter Vincent “Chin” Gigante whose and The Sun when a school construction trying to unravel the significance of an im- relatives insisted that he was a scandal erupted. There was stark evi- portant event – mass murders or a rack- mentally distressed, punch drunk dence of crumbling roofs, shoddy work eteering arrest. Happily, Men of Honor ex-boxer, not the underworld titan and renovations that endangered the have too many scruples to employ public of the Genovese crime family. Two safety of thousands of students and teach- relations experts who deluge a reporter beefy companions of Mr. Gigante ers. Combing the backgrounds of the with worthless tips, press releases, both- almost trampled me as I scurried building-trades companies unearthed a ersome telephone calls and e-mails. to safety. pattern of phantom investors, rigged bids As for incisive interviews, don't bother I did squeeze a memorable re- and bribes to school officials. Much of the applying. Most accused mobsters, espe- joinder from James Failla in the malfeasance was engineered by behind- cially the family aristocrats, are steadfast 1990s while researching a story the-scenes Mafiosi. recluses, denying they possess articulate about his role as the Gambino Later as a reporter for the Telly, gifts. I almost got an exclusive comment family's not-so-secret controller of WNBC, PBS, and The Times, I kept run- from John Gotti before he was convicted the city's private garbage carting ning across Cosa Nostra fingerprints on of being the CEO in the Gambino crime industry. Known as Jimmy Brown numerous aspects of government, law family. It was in a courthouse men's room. The Villager for favoring that sartorial shade, I enforcement, the judicial system, unions I extended good luck wishes and asked Vincent “the Chin” Gigante, a New York Mafioso intercepted him on his way to a and everyday life. It required little sagac- for an interview about his ongoing trial. notorious for wandering the streets of New York weekly meeting with supplicant ity to determine that, by the 1970s, the Two goons were aiding his ablutions, turn- in his bathrobe, simulating madness. carting contractors. Failla uncoiled Continued on Page 4 PAGE 2 SILURIAN NEWS NOVEMBER 2010 In Tribute to Maury Allen 1932-2010 Maury’s Last Tale Maury Allen's piece below on Don Maury then reels back novelistically to evoke tures a time more than half a century ago. He Maury died on October 3, at age 78, leaving Larsen's Perfect Game in the fifth game of the tension as the Yankee pitcher drew ever closer calls Don Larsen in Idaho to get his memories, his wife, Janet, his two children, Ted and Jenni- the 1956 World Series in Yankee Stadium is to the one-and-only No-Hitter and Perfect Game in and sits with Yogi Berra and talks with Arthur fer, and four grandchildren, and was an hon- a perfect example of the wonderful, subtle World Series history: "The drama built in the Richman, long-time friend of Larsen, to round ored Silurian, one-time president and most cur- art of Maury Allen the Writer, not just Sports Brooklyn eighth as Larsen retired every Brooklyn out the tale. rently a member of the Board of Directors. And Writer. He puts us in the scene, from the open- batter and the crowd roared louder on each pitch to family and friends, he left a warm personal ing paragraph which, paradoxically, starts than the noise from the nearby Eighth Avenue sub- This was what the reader of Maury's baseball legacy, not just of talent. but of laughter and at the end of the game – "the masked Yogi way." writing in the New York Post for nearly three de- love. Berra... leaping into the grinning face of Don cades and what the readers of his 40 books came to Larsen." But Maury the Reporter does more, as he cap- expect and relish. – Ira Berkow Don Larsen’s Perfect Game By Maury Allen ran it down for the out. Larsen had his perfect game going The image has lasted half a century, through seven innings, no runs, a masked Yogi Berra, the Yankee no hits, no walks, no Brooklyn catcher, leaping into the grinning face of batter reaching first base. Don Larsen, the Perfect Game pitcher. “When I came to the dug- It was October 8, 1956, the fifth game out after the seventh inning no- of the World body would talk to me. I said Series be- something to Mickey about a tween the no-hitter and he just looked haughty away. You could see it all on New York the scoreboard,” Larsen said. Yankees and The drama built in the the ram- Brooklyn eighth as Larsen re- bunctious tired every Brooklyn batter Brooklyn and the crowd roared louder on Dodgers, a each pitch than the noise from thrilled Sta- the nearby Eighth Avenue sub- dium crowd way.