By FRANK MEYER
Morrie Gelman’s piece shook loose a memory of my own. It was the late ’60s and I was entertainment editor of the late Miami Beach Sun as well as a stringer for Variety. After taping an hour-plus interview with Leslie Bricusse, longtime collaborator with Tony Newley, we switched to playback and heard, as Syd would have said, “bupkes.”
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He would rather have seen blood spilt
By MORRIE GELMAN
INTO THE LIFE OF EVERY REPORTER at least a few embarrassing moments must fall. Usually, for me, it’s falling prey to that time-honored boxing admonition of leading with my chin.
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By BOB HAWKINS
The New Yorker (Nov. 29, ’04) tribute to the late Charles Schulz, the creator of Charlie Brown and Snoopy, reminded me of the long-ago time when I sort of “had dinner” with this genius.
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A personal memoire from MORRIE GELMAN
I DREAMED of radio. Is it an odd thing to be dreaming about? Not so odd. Radio is my Rosebud. I don’t guess I’ll mutter the single word radio as life squeezes out of me. I’m not Charles Foster Kane. But I can dream my Rosebud, can’t I?
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