Clay Felker, who founded New York, died last week at 82. Among the first to recognize the bourgeois circus that the metropolis was becoming, he invented a new kind of magazine — and journalism — to chronicle it. Along the way, he launched the careers of a generation of literary superstars,
became an early champion of the women’s movement, and, in a way, invented
the yuppie (a mixed blessing, to be sure). His vision of New York as a tournament of ambition was so vivid it changed the way people looked
at the city — and thus changed the city itself. Just days before Felker’s death, Tom Wolfe finished an essay about Clay for an upcoming New York anthology. We print it here (“A City Built of Clay”), joined by a succession
of memories of Felker from Gloria Steinem, Milton Glaser, Richard Reeves, Felix Rohatyn, Gore Vidal, and others (“My God, What Trouble You Could Cause!”), plus a small piece narrated to his wife, Gail Sheehy, in his final days by Clay himself (“My New York”).
On the Cover: Clay Felker at the old New York office on East 32nd Street. Photograph by Cosmos Sarchiapone.
Willie Kathryn Suggs, the so-called Queen of Harlem Real Estate, has sent local housing prices soaring. She’s also touched off a heated debate: Should Harlem be preserved as an affordable haven for blacks? Or sold to the highest bidder?
Get ready for the biggest yard sale ever.
For New York’s founding editor, the city was like a giant novel waiting to be written, a pageant of ambition. And no one wrote it better than he did.
Ken Langone wouldn’t change a thing.
Hitching a ride on Ikea.
Also, lowered target.
Lapham speaks ill.
At least for his lawyer.
Word that A-Rod had been making late-night visits to Madonna’s home base hogged the spotlight from the week’s other odd couples.
Forget a “traffic cop.” Bring in Philippe de Montebello.
The (likely temporary) Mets manager respects his forebears.
Does Philippe Vergne have what it takes to keep Dia from being DOA?
Brooklyn kosher-butchering empire hobbled by labor troubles.
Jellies, flip-flops, and sandals for both genders.
"I think about clothes all the time. Like, literally all the time."
Alain Ducasse’s Benoit takes the New York brasserie craze to new lows.
Week of July 14, 2008: Lia’s Ices, Kurve, and Socarrat Paella Bar.
Fourth of July cookouts bring on barbecue fatigue.
You need it. But you don’t have to see it.
Never mind the national housing slump: Real-estate TV is selling just fine.
The Airplane! star lands safely onstage.
From the folks who brought you The Wire, a Baghdad dystopia that’s bleaker than Baltimore.
MGMT was born into buzz. Then they figured out how to earn it.
Life on an “Iraqi” stage set. Plus: Brendan Fraser, in 3-D.
The DVD queue: Chop Shop, Mad Men, Shine a Light, and more.
The Greeks worshipped it; the Aztecs were a little more conflicted.
Our deliberately oversimplified guide to who falls where on our taste hierarchies.
Nothing says July more than free family-friendly festivals (try to say that three times fast).
On July 9, Manhattan gets its fifth Whole Foods.
Readers sound off on Barack Obama, East Village punks, and more.
Findings from the streets, files, and hard drives of New York.
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