Every day I get the op-ed page from The New York Times in my email. The editor is a chap named David Leonhardt.

Each time I read the first few words, I ask myself

Who cares?

It has been a long trip down the road to irrelevance for The Grey Lady.

And New York. Art Deco, I fear, is but Woody Allen’s memory.

It’s all gone. Like The Old Penn Station.

Jerome Kern,The Gershwins, Cole Porter, The Talking Heads, by golly, replaced by Disney musicals.

Nobody speaks Yiddish anymore, goes to The Catskills, or does piece work sewing.

The great grandchildren of these seamstresses live in. Westchester, work on Wall Street or publishing.

Their measure of success has moved beyond escape from tenement.

And this City lives more on its memories than its dreams, just like everywhere else.