by JACK LOFTUS

What sad news to hear about Norma. I will remember her high-pitched voice (did she have any other?), her uncanny knowledge that your Variety ID card was about to expire, and, natch, if you ever went up to the fourth floor you better have a damn good reason. I don’t recall how many cats (the animal kind) guarded that space, tho Norma was a terror if they got out and downstairs where the reporters lived and anything could happen. I miss Norma. I can hear her still…

by MORT BRYER

This happened, I estimate, about twenty years ago, plus. My point of reference is based on the year I moved from the Garden State, (NJ) to lovely, bucolic Connecticut, 1983, and before the big ball knocked down that noble, towering edifice on West 46th Street in early 1988, a period a.k.a. as “after the sale”.
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