Last Wednesday, I sat down to write a piece about the late Jimmy Breslin, the newspaper columnist whose blunt yet eloquent
If you’re a lifelong New Yorker of a certain age like me, then there are several things you cannot extract from your growing
The newspaper columnist who died Sunday shined a light on the powerful by talking to the powerless.
I miss columnists because back in Breslin’s prime, I knew where to find them.
New York bids farewell to one of its most prolific storytellers.
Breslin, a self-described “street reporter," was a Pulitzer Prize-winning newsman who chronicled New York City for more than 60 years.
Lyndon Johnson didn't actually call me a liar, but he said there was no truth to my story that Foley, who died Dec. 30 at the age of 87 at his home in Whitefish, Mont., had submitted his resignation as Assistant Secretary of Commerce and director of the Economic Development Administration in 1966.
Like a young Joan Didion or a middle-aged Woody Allen, I have had an enduring love affair with my birthplace -- Manhattan, particularly its West Side.
Belsky's novel is a fascinating character study of disgraced journalist Gil Malloy, on the hunt for a serial killer who may very well be in possession of a long-buried secret that could reveal the rotted, corrupt truth behind the Kennedy assassination.
Nostalgia is a dish best served warm, but it doesn't hurt one bit if the source of the heat is a mystery that brings to mind gorgeous spies and odious moles who watched the first light of peacetime bleed into the twilight of the Cold War.