God Love Ed McBain and Evan Hunter Too

Before I was introduced to Ed McBain I knew Evan Hunter. His book Blackboard Jungle had riveted me and I'd been scared out of my wits by The Birds for which he wrote the screenplay. I met him through his son Richard, when I was seventeen in my senior year in High School. That was the year my parents moved from a very modest garden apartment where if you could afford to own one, your car was Chevy or Ford American, to a nice home with our own backyard, in the tony town of Bedford, where everyone owned at least one European luxury model. I went from going to a local high school where the parent/celebrity was a brawny wrestler Arnold Skolin, "The Golden Boy" to one where the parent/celebrities like Howard Cossell, Wide World of Sports, Jules Styne composer "I've Heard That Song Before"; "I Should Care"; "It's Been a Long, Long Time"; "Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow!" and Evan Hunter were famous for their mental prowess. My ascendance into Northern Westchester's rarified locale was rough. Try climbing Everest in the dark, without an oxygen mask or a guide for that matter. I was in a foreign land where nothing jibed with my earlier experiences. It was a place where young people wrote poetry and being a victim of a random act of violence was not even a remote possibility. Emotions were locked down and cool. In Upper Westchester casually tattered ill-fitting clothes looked like money not like where I was from when wearing the same clothes as those rich kids meant that your family was too poor to get you new ones. Lunch was eaten slowly, without fear that anyone would take yours away. Slapstick was not funny, sarcasm was; and for a student to work after school was as rare as shopping at K-mart. I was clueless about all that as exemplified by my feeling lucky when I scored a 4:00 to 7:00 pm weekdays job, landscaping at a local nursery. I also played in a rock band. After work I would go straight to band rehearsals, invariably arriving covered in mud and pine needles. We rehearsed in the playroom of Evan's massive concrete and glass modern house, (the first I'd seen). It had a deep conversation pit around a fireplace, a pool, a housekeeper, a grand piano, and as accessories, two Mercedes in the driveway. The fridge was filled with Heineken. I had never seen beer in a green glass bottle until then, only opaque brown or clear, but more likely in a can. One night while the band was practicing The Man himself came in for a listen. It was early spring and he had just come back from skiing in Switzerland, looking relaxed, smiling, pipe in hand. When we took a break he came over to introduce himself. We exchanged greetings then he asked me where I was from. I told him I lived in Bedford. He squinted as he scrutinized my face. "You're not from Bedford." His response was delivered with a lot of good will and warmth. I was taken aback trying to figure out what he was getting at? I mean my family had a home there. I figured that sufficed. Meanwhile he was looking around the room, taking in the other kids the fortunate ones who had grown up in that exclusive part of the world. "Where did you live before that?" "White Plains." I said. "You're not from White Plains. Come on Marc, where are your people from?" I paused. It was not a question I was expecting. Why would he care? "The Bronx." "Now you're talking" he said and patted me on the shoulder. "You know I'm from the Bronx. My real name is Salvatore Albert Lombino. I went to Evanda Childs High School. That's where I took my first name from." My mother had gone there. It was a Bronx institution that I knew well. "And my last name I took from Hunter College." It was a bonding moment. Later that year he wrote a recommendation letter to Kenyon College admissions on my behalf, and the following year his son Richard and I wrote a musical together that Jose Ferrer optioned for Broadway. Several months after that first encounter I learned he was also Ed McBain, the brilliant writer of mysteries. I've been reading his 87th Precinct stories ever since. God bless him and Evan too.

Copyright © 2009 Marc Blatte author of Humpty Dumpty Was Pushed: A Novel

Author Bio Marc Blatte, author of Humpty Dumpty Was Pushed: A Novel, a native and longtime resident of New York City, grew up in the Bronx, played baseball in the Roy Campanella Little League and was a protege of the bestselling author Ed McBain.

After a brief stint west of the Hudson at Kenyon College, Marc returned to the city that never sleeps to become a wunderkind of the songwriting industry, dubbed by legendary record producer Clive Davis as one of the "fortunate ones." He has composed material for major stars, and was nominated for a Grammy Award for best R&B Song.

He has shaken Joe Frazier's hand at Small's Paradise, danced with Sherry Lansing, fixed Debbie Harry's sink, met Henry Kissinger, and had an unexpected visit from the Wu Tang Clan. He has worked as a golf caddy, Rotor Rooter man, tenement superintendent, keyboard player in a lounge band, was a hip-hop white boy pioneer record producer . . . and lived to tell.

The father of three daughters, Marc and his wife Jeanne divide their time between New York and Nicaragua. He is currently at work on his next mystery featuring Black Sallie Blue Eyes. by Marc Blatte

One on One with author Lily Koppel

Jeremy "Basil" Dannebohm, had a chance to visit with Lily Koppel, author of "The Red Leather Diary" during a recent visit to Denver to promote the book.

JD: How did you happen upon the diary in your dumpster?

LK: I was 22, late for work at The New York Times. Like all young people who move to the big city, I was looking for love and meaning in my life. At the time, I was reporting on the celebrity scene, but finding it unsatisfying on a personal level and as a writer looking for a life-changing story. One morning, I came out of my New York City apartment building on the Upper West Side to find a dumpster brimming with old steamer trunks. It was like a scene out of Titantic. I climbed in and started excavating. Among the flapper dresses, vintage clothes and old scalloped-edged black and white photographs was a crumbling red leather diary kept by a young woman named Florence Wolfson from 1929 to 1934.

JD: What prompted you to read the diary and not simply cast it aside as junk?

LK: The diary looked magical with gold-edged pages and a rusted brass latch. I held my breath as I tested it. The diary was unlocked. Little pieces of red leather sprinkled onto my bedspread. The diary was a portal into a young woman's forgotten, glamorous 1930s world. She was a writer and an artist. Her life was full of theater, literature, music, salons, writers and poets, including the Italian count with whom she had a love affair when she sailed to Europe in 1936. I read the diary like a personal letter to me. Florence and I, although separated by three quarters of a century, were on the same path.

JD: Do you have any idea how the steamer trunk ended up in the dumpster?

LK: Florence and I lived I the same building, decades apart. Later I learned that when Florence and her husband moved out of 98 Riverside Drive, on 82 nd Street, they forgot to bring the trunk, which was in basement storage. In 2003, the basement decided to clear out the area and carted over 50 trunks to the waiting dumpster.

JD: After you started paging through the diary, describe your initial reaction. What lead you to say to yourself "This would make an outstanding book?"

LK: I read the diary like a novel. Florence became my guide to New York to searching for love and how to make a mark on the world. I still get goosebumps when I think about how I found the diary. Why me? Reality was stranger than fiction-in this case my life had become like a movie. I wanted other people to share with me the mystery and magic of the diary. From being headed for a dumpster, Florence's mesmerizing story was revealed. The Red Leather Diary feels like a novel, but it is non-fiction, drawn from my original research and interviews with the diary's owner, 90-year-old Florence Wolfson who I tracked down with the help of a private investigator. The original diary entries are interspersed throughout.

JD: If you had to pick your favorite entry in the diary, what would it be?

LK: I have a few. "Have stuffed myself with Mozart and Beethoven-I feel like a ripe apricot-I'm dizzy with the exotic." Who wouldn't want to feel like a ripe apricot? "Five hours of tennis and glorious happiness-all I want is someone to love-I feel incomplete." "Wrote all day-and my story is still incomplete," because when I found the diary as a young writer I felt I picked up the story where Florence left off.

JD: When you finally made contact with Florence for the first time, what was her initial reaction?

LK: She was shocked that I would have cared about her story enough to search her out. She writes about her reaction eloquently in the book's foreword: "What do you feel like when a forgotten chunk of your life is handed back to you?" It stopped my heart for a moment, she said. The diary has become a virtual fountain of youth for Florence, who was 90 when I met her, and turns 93 in August. She has gotten a laptop and is writing again.

JD: To turn the table a bit, what was your reaction when you finally met the author of your mystery diary face to face?

LK: After reading the diary, I thought I would be meeting an artist or a writer. Florence was a very interesting woman, but had taken a different path. She turned to me and said, "From reading about that young woman in the diary, how did I end up living this ordinary life?" She wondered why she didn't pursue her career as a writer, but instead married and had two wonderful daughters. She has granddaughters and great-grandchildren. Florence's words have come full circle. Her diary was her enduring work of art and her spirit to reveal her innermost thoughts to the world. "You brought back my life," Florence said to me. "You brought back mine too," I told her.

JD: Tell me about your relationship with Florence today.

LK: It is so unusual for a younger person to befriend someone in their nineties, if they are not related. Through the pages of her treasured diary, I got to know Florence intimately as a teenager and met her at 90. She is timeless to me. She is both my grandmother and best friend.

JD: How has your life changed since reading the diary and writing this book?

LK: The diary led me to write my first book. Florence has inspired me to never give up on my dream of pursuing my writing.

JD: If you could, compare the New York City of then to the New York City of today. What is similar and what has changed?

LK: New York City today is filled with Starbucks and Citibanks. Florence's 1930s New York was filled with women wearing gloves and heels and men in Fedoras. She toasted the night at El Morocco. The coming together of our two New Yorks is electrifying, it brought back the romance of New York.

JD: If a reader could take one "lesson" away from your book, what do you hope that lesson would be?

LK: The diary was a gift for Florence's 14 th birthday in 1929. It was a gift to me when I found it when I was 22, searching for love and meaning in my life. It was a gift again to Florence at 90. The Red Leather Diary is a gift to everyone who connects with its message of finding the significance of all of our lives. Florence wasn't a celebrity, but she is now, for expressing her authentic and genuine self. We appeared on The Today Show: http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/24159947/

JD: Who are some of your writing influences? What are you reading these days?

LK: Vladimir Nabokov, Virginia Woolf, Haruki Murakami. I am reading my mother's diaries, which she started keeping as a teenager, research for my next book.

JD: What lies ahead for Lily Koppel? Are there any additional books in the pipeline?

LK: One of the most meaningful things to me about writing the book was Florence's two daughters, who are both in their sixties, turning to me after they finished reading and telling me how much they learned about their mother from reading the book. They saw her for the first time as a young passionate woman searching for love. My next book is about my mother.

JD: Thank you for taking time to visit with me about The Red Leather Diary.

For more information visit the website: www.redleatherdiary.com. by Jeremy Basil Dannebohm