Glitterati, Literati--Rubbing Elbows with the Well-Read Crowd

                                    Image from https://s38490.pcdn.co/wp-content/uploads/2022/07/splash-social.png.

My New York City born-and-bred mother subscribed to The New Yorker, which piqued my curiosity when it arrived weekly in our black metal mailbox in Dumont, New Jersey. But I didn't read it much back then. And though I'm proud that the Hearst Magazines dynasty has been my long-time employer (on staff and freelance), I never did fulfill my dream of also working at one of the glossy crown jewels at Condé Nast Publishing.

But now, the latter has The New Yorker in its deep duster coat pocket, so I figured a couple degrees of separation would have to do, getting me closer to cream-of-the-crop Condé at the 24th annual New Yorker Festival. I had never gone due to the high ticket cost, but this fall, I went to a free event on Sunday, October 8 at 12:30 p.m. I snagged a ticket for Dan, too, but we had just driven into Brooklyn to dear Kim's and F's for a cocktail party the night before, so he took a pass. Too bad.

From Montclair, I hopped on Grove Street to Route 3 East and the Lincoln Tunnel to attend a screening of part one, "JFK: One Day in America," a documentary series that will stream in early November. The footage of that fateful day in Dallas transports you. You are there, with Mrs. Kennedy in her carefully curated fashions, her pink pillbox hat and navy and pink suit. (How did I never see the navy part before?) With her when she is late for the hotel breakfast and then met with loud applause. With Mrs. Kennedy when her husband is shot in the motorcade. When she has a fleeting breath of hope that he is still alive because they ask what his blood type is outside the emergency room entrance. You are with the two Secret Service agents (now aged, and on camera), who did their very best to protect and save in the midst of shock. With a reporter who was on the scene. You breathe deep, you turn away. You know what is coming.

But there is also beautiful footage at the start, the family out boating with the children, and more. I'm a lifelong Kennedy family buff but this film has many details that had never been revealed. The very best documentary digging, tasteful and true.

The 23rd Street theatre was packed. I looked around in the dark--a college student, artsy city dwellers who looked like filmmakers and a kind of grumpy big guy to my right who ducked out before the lights went on and the panel discussion began. 

The panel was great, all four experts charming and smart. We had Amy Starecheski, the Co-Director of the Oral History MA Program at Columbia University; young, pretty, blonde, modest, British and quietly brilliant, not puffed-up* director Ella Wright; Peggy Simpson, who covered the JFK assassination firsthand as a young journalist; and David Glover, the co-CEO of 72 Films, which produced the series. 

 

I was lucky to get free (Sunday) parking right across the street. I did rush back to get Punchy to her community service stint in the afternoon at Toni's, the soup kitchen in town, but let's not go there right now.

I can't wait to watch the rest of the series next month. I love New York.

                                                                        Image from here.

Per Wikipedia: The New Yorker Festival is an annual event organized by The New Yorker magazine.^[1] It is held in venues in and around New York City, typically in early October, bringing together "a who’s-who of the arts, politics and everything in between."^[2] The festival was first held in 1999 and has since become "one of the buzziest cultural events of the year" as well as "the biggest consumer-facing event for the magazine's parent company Condé Nast.

*Hell no, Ella was not puffed up--you cannot elicit cooperation and important historical insights like these if you are a puffed-up film director in requisite black turtleneck, right? Please forgive my stereotype.