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Phoebe Eaton

Brother Gifford Croons: Buddy, Can You Spare a Vote?

So there was A. Gifford Miller, standing around in khakis and one of his candy-stripe Sea Island cotton button-downs outside the Western Beef on Merrick Boulevard in Queens. “We Know the Neighborhood,” the acid orange sign stated flatly. A big black dude in blue-tinted square-frame sunglasses cannonballed out of the supermarket’s automatic doors. “Gifford Miller Read More

Brother Gifford Croons: Buddy, Can You Spare a Vote?

So there was A. Gifford Miller, standing around in khakis and one of his candy-stripe Sea Island cotton button-downs outside the Western Beef on Merrick Boulevard in Queens.

“We Know the Neighborhood,” the acid orange sign stated flatly. A big black dude in blue-tinted square-frame sunglasses cannonballed out of the supermarket’s automatic doors. “Gifford Miller ain’t Read More

Anthony Weiner, In Mayoral Run, Models On Koch

"If I see Anthony Weiner, I'm gonna kick him in the balls!"

Woody Johnson was kidding around at the annual winter cocktail party for the Queens County Democrats that was underway at Antun's, a lively wedding-reception rathskeller in Queens Village. The owner of the Jets had been making the rounds, cranking up support for a stadium Read More

Terry Richardson’s Dark Room

Was it an act of God? Photographer Terry Richardson considered this. It was last Thursday, the day before his first major New York show in years, and a flood in a vacant lot on the corner had nudged the Deitch Projects gallery in Soho off its very foundation. The gallery now looked to be condemned, Read More

Abe, Mel and the Christ

Abraham H. Foxman sat in his office suite with its expensive United Nations view, wondering when the WNBC camera crew would get there. The afternoon would soon be spent: It was Friday, and the national director of the Anti-Defamation League was ending phone calls with the words "Shabbat Shalom." The next day he was jetting Read More

The Hollywood Beast Roars

The fresh-squeezed carrot juice arrived at the table in New York's Four Seasons Hotel restaurant. There would be no lemon-ricotta pancakes with applewood-smoked sausage on the side, no two or three glasses of white wine that had once been a morning's pre-interview pour. This wimpy Kucinich of a cocktail was big Joe Eszterhas' breakfast.

His frost-n-tipped Read More

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