"Do you know who died?" my husband asked ominously. 

My whole body tensed up. The way he said it scared me. I poised for bad news. 

"I guess you don't."

Who died?" I said

"Irving Penn," he said sadly, incredulously, finally. 

I knew he was old. 93. But Irving Penn is one of the greats, the master, an artistic hero in our house and we were really moved by the passing of this man who has been making great editorial and art photography (what's the difference, really) for a lifetime.

Brooklynometry has a post called Requium for Irving Penn in which she writes:

Go to her blog to see his photo of cigarette butts.

Around here we treasure his portraits, his still lifes, his book of ambulant studio photography, "Worlds in a Small Room" and yes his cigarette butts.

My heart goes out to the parents of Sam Hindy, 27, the Park Slope cyclist who died on the Manhattan Bridge.

"We’re just devastated. This is the worst thing that could happen to any parent. It’s any parent’s worst nightmare," his father, one of the founders of the Brooklyn Brewery, told the press.

The New York Times reports that 27-year-old Sam Hindy of Eighth Street in Park Slope  was killed after taking a wrong turn on the Manhattan Bridge and flippng over a retaining wall, which caused him to fall 15 feet to the lower level, where he was hit by a car.

A computer engineer with Double Click in Manhattan, Hindy suffered massive head trauma. His father is a founder of Brooklyn Brewery.

Brooklyn man of letters, two-time winner of the Pulitzer Prize, film director, mayoral candidate, co-founder of the Village Voice, and a larger-than-life author/celebrity died yesterday of kidney failure, Norman Mailer died yesterday. He was 84.  Read the Obituary in the New York Times, from which this is an excerpt:

Mr. Mailer was a tireless worker who at his death was writing a
sequel to his 2007 novel, “The Castle in the Forest.” If some of his
books, written quickly and under financial pressure, were not as good
as he had hoped, none of them were forgettable or without his
distinctive stamp. And if he never quite succeeded in bringing off what
he called “the big one” — the Great American Novel — it was not for
want of trying.

Along the way, he transformed American
journalism by introducing to nonfiction writing some of the techniques
of the novelist and by placing at the center of his reporting a
brilliant, flawed and larger-than-life character who was none other
than Norman Mailer himself.

The  Village Voice on-line has a good obituary, too, as well as early Village Voice articles written by Mailer.

Jay Fidler, a great son of Brooklyn, died today. A family mourns, as well as a large community of friends, neighbors, and colleagues, who were touched by his robust spirit—at work, at play, at Brooklyn’s Madison High School, in the Army, at Brown University, in business, at home in  Westchester and all the other places where he shared his warm personality and zest for life.

He was a leader in every sense of the word. Jay projected strength of character, good humor, kindness, smarts, and strong moral and ethical values in every thing he did.

A born athlete, he was a great storyteller, a respected boss, a loving father and grandfather, and a wonderful and devoted husband to my Aunt Rhoda, his wife of more than 60 years.

Born in Brooklyn, Jay was the son of Irving and Beatrice Fidler, of Lefferts Garden. He attended Madison High School, where he played football and distinguished himself in the arts.

Jay married his high school sweetheart, Rhoda Wander, and attended Brown University, where he was a football hero and later served on the Board of Trustees.

During the Second World War, Jay served in the US Army. Afterwards, he started working for Hercules Chemical Corporation at its office and
factory in lower Manhattan in New York City. The company, then a small
family-held corporation started by my grandfather, Samuel Wander, grew substantially under his leadership.

In the 1950’s Jay designed his family’s home, a Frank Lloyd Wright-style house, built with glass, brick and cement block.

Jay leaves behind three loving and devoted children and his wife Rhoda, who advocated for his health and well-being during a long illness with vigilance and dignity until the very end.

He also leaves behind five exceptional grandchildren, a wonderful brother, and many loving relatives and friends.

A light went out today because Jay is gone. But his memory will be cherished by all who knew him.

Finally. It was in a doomed restaurant spot and it didn’t manage to overcome the curse, I guess. Here’s a post from 2005 about Maggie Moo’s, when it first opened.

Does Park Slope really need one more ice cream store?

Strategically positioned across from PS 321 (and next door to Pino’s Pizza), Maggie Moo’s Ice Cream and Treatery is poised to make a killing on the sweet teeth of Park Slope children and parents alike.

That makes six ice cream stores between Union and Ninth Street. There’s Haggen Daz, Uncle Louie’s with 2 shops, Carvel, Fratelli, and now Ms. Moo. There’s also Mr. Softee who parks daily on Second Street, the ices cart, which rolls up to PS 321 on a regular basis, and at least 4 pizza stores that sell Italian ices. Yeesh. Dats a lot of ice cream. Only real estate offices outnumber ice cream shops around here.

So who needs Maggie Moo?

For Smartmom’s ice cream needs, a pint of chocolate Haggen Daz from the Food Coop does the trick. Yet, this blogger from Brooklyn is always interested in the latest consumer developments on Seventh Avenue. Especially those entrepreneurs, like Maggie Moo, brave enough to build in doomed locations.

Yup. you heard me. Maggie Moo took over one of the most famous doomed restaurant spots on Seventh Avenue. For years this one storefront has been the site of one terrible restaurant after the other — the names of which are thankfully forgotten. Terrible food, rotten service, ugly decor, bad ventilation — you name it. Every restaurant that’s gone in there was a disaster.

Smartmom was reminded recently by a local reader that before the site was a doomed restaurant spot it was a newstand where, tragically, the proprieter was murdered. This was back in 1991 when Smartmom first moved to the neighborhood.

Smartmom is curious if Maggie Moo can do it. Can she transcend the curse of her doomed location?

Fortunately, the shop looks completely different from its last few incarnations. Ms. Moo did a major rehab of the space painting it bright pink and orange with spots on the ceiling. Clearly, it was a big money rehab and it has the sniff of a national chain, which it is. It took weeks and weeks for the store to finally open and for a few days it looked open but they were just doing training sessions for the employees.

On opening day, an employee in a rather elaborate upright cow costume gave out flyers in front of the store. Said cow was wearing a polka dotted Minnie Mouse-style dress and was doing a little dance. Smartmom thought: It is nearly winter and these people are opening an ice cream store. What kind of overconfidence is that? With a cow no less. The first couple of days saw a steady crowd — people are always curious when something new opens in the Slope.

OSFO was dying to go and was completely captivated by the dancing cow. Teen Spirt thought the whole thing was idiotic and he refused to step even one foot in the door. But OSFO was determined. So Smartmom and OSFO went…

Well?

Turns out Maggie Moo is modeled on the Cold Stone Ice Cream concept. That’s a chain that started, like everything else, in California where the servers mash treats of your choice into the ice cream on a slab of marble or stone. There are M&Ms, marshmallows, gummy bears, nuts, Reeses, Heath Bar, KitKat, dried fruit — take your pick. They make a bit of a production out of the mashing process. At Cold Stone, the employees sing Hip Hop style if you tip them. Maggie Moo does no such thing but other than that they’re the same.

On OSFO’s first trip she wanted vanilla ice cream with a KitKat bar mashed in. She watched in awe as the server diced the candy and vigorously smeared it into her ice cream using two silver spoons. The production cost close to $3.00 but Smartmom was okay with that as OSFO’s pleasure is always foremost in her mind (how do you spell spoiled?) After a few bites, OSFO gave her culinary review: “Toooo Sweeeet,” she said and she didn’t much like the crunchy texture of the KitKat in there. Smartmom took a bite and agreed that the vanilla ice cream was putrid.

Curiosity satisfied, Smartmom figured: been there, done that. She didn’t have a very glowing prognosis for this new addition to Seventh Avenue.

Will Maggie Moo break the curse of its doomed restaurant location? Will Park Slopers choose to spend top dollar on too sweet ice cream? Smartmom will keep you posted. For now, she and OSFO will walk on the other side of the street to avoid the lure of the dancing cow, the bright pink interior, and turquoise ice cream with gummy bears.

Smartmom is the pen name of a certain Park Slope writer and blogger. Her other site: thirdstreet.blogspot.com, chronicles the adventures of Smartmom, her husband, Hepcat, her son, Teen Spirit and the Oh So Feisty One (OSFO), her second grade daughter.

Grace Paley died on Wednesday at her home in Vermont. She was 84.

Her literary output is cherished by legions of loyal readers.

“The Little Disturbances of Man” (Doubleday, 1959); “Enormous
Changes at the Last Minute” (Farrar, Straus & Giroux, 1974); and
“Later the Same Day” (Farrar, Straus & Giroux, 1985).

Her “Collected Stories,” published by Farrar, Straus in 1994, was a finalist for both the Pulitzer Prize
and the National Book Award. (The collection was reissued by Farrar,
Straus this year.)

From 1986 to 1988, Ms. Paley was New York’s first
official state author; she was also a past poet laureate of Vermont.

NYC Firefighters lined Fort Hamilton Avenue in Dyker Heights paying tribute to one of their own. Reminiscent of the funerals and memorials after 9/11, the close proximity to the 6th anniversary is making for a very difficult time for the FDNY community.

Firefighter Joseph Graffagnino, 33, who died in the Deutsche Bank fire on Saturdaybuilding in Lower Manhattan on Saturday, was mourned this morning at a very large funeral Mass at Saint Ephrem’s Church, at 929 Bay Ridge Parkway at Fort Hamilton Parkway.

Gov. Eliot Spitzer and Mayor Michael R. Bloomberg were both scheduled to speak. The other firefighter who was killed on Saturday, Robert Beddia wll be buried on Friday after a funeral Mass at St. Patrick’s Cathedral.

Brooke Astor, society lady, philanthropist, and champion of great New York City institutions like the New York Public Library, the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and Central Park, died today at the age of 105. Sadly in the last year there was much controversy about her care. Her grandson Philip Marshall accused his father (and Mrs. Astor’s only son) of not taking good care of her and exploiting her for his own wealth.

The New York Times reports that Mrs. Astor became a philanthropist after her third husband, Vincent Astor died. He was an heir to the real estate fortune of, John Jacob Astor.. Vincent Astor left Mrs. Astor $60 million and $60 million for a foundation intended to help alleviate human suffering.

The New York TImes’ reports that Mrs. Astor truly enjoyed giving the money away. This is from the New York Times obit:

She had a great deal of fun giving money away. With a wink and a sly smile, she liked to quote the leading character in Thornton Wilder’s play “The Matchmaker,” saying, “Money is like manure; it’s not worth a thing unless it’s spread around.”

It was Mrs. Astor who decided that because most of the Astor fortune had been made in New York real estate, it should be spent in New York, for New Yorkers. Grants supported the city’s museums and libraries, its boys’ and girls’ clubs, homes for the elderly, churches, landmarks and other institutions and programs.

The Metropolitan Museum issued this statement:

The flags here have been lowered to half mast—and will remain so until Mrs. Astor’s interment—in tribute to someone who is truly irreplaceable in our hearts and in our history. If this entire building could shed a collective tear, it would—she symbolized the soul of this institution, a magical presence who could endow galleries and touch individual visitors and staff members with equal impact. We have lost an icon and a beloved friend, for whose long life and generous spirit we feel grateful and blessed.

What is going on? Antonioni died on the same day as Ingmar Bergman. This great Italian filmmaker, who’s body will lie in state in Rome, is the directorial genuis behind: Blow Up, Zabriskie Point, Red Desert, L’Avventura, L’Notte and more.

“My subjects are, in a very general sense, autobiographical. The story is first built through discussions with a collaborator. In the case of “L’Eclisse,” the discussions went on for four months. The writing was then done, by myself, taking perhaps fifteen days. My scripts are not formal screenplays, but rather dialogue for the actors and a series of notes to the director. When shooting begins, there is invariably a great amount of changing. When I go on the set of a scene, I insist on remaining alone for at least twenty minutes. I have no preconceived ideas of how the scene should be done, but wait instead for the ideas to come that will tell me how to begin.” — Michelangelo Antonioni

There is a very detailed obit in today’s New York Times.

An OTBKB reader kindly sent me this. I didn’t see it and I am stunned. Stunned and sad that one of the greatest filmmakers to ever live has passed. He was 89. A very informative obituary is in the New York Times.

STOCKHOLM, Sweden (AP) — Swedish director Ingmar Bergman, an iconoclastic filmmaker widely regarded as one of the great masters of modern cinema, died Monday, the president of his foundation said. He was 89.

”It’s an unbelievable loss for Sweden, but even more so internationally,” Astrid Soderbergh Widding, president of The Ingmar Bergman Foundation, which administers the directors’ archives, told The Associated Press.

Bergman died at his home in Faro, Sweden, Swedish news agency TT said, citing his daughter Eva Bergman. A cause of death was not immediately available.

I used to watch "FATHER KNOWS BEST" when I stayed home sick as a kid. I can still remember the feeling of lying on the couch with a brown crocheted blanket watching television in our den, settling into a day of television watching and Campbell’s chicken noodle soup.

The show was on after Donna Reid show around 9 a.m. in the morning. I also watched  "Leave it to Beaver," "Hazel" and other old time sitcoms.  Jane Wyatt, who played the mom and wife of the dad, played by Robert Young, died at the age of 96. The obit is from the NY Times.

LOS ANGELES (AP) — Jane Wyatt, the lovely, serene actress who for
six years on ”Father Knows Best” was one of TV’s favorite moms, has
died. She was 96.

Wyatt died Friday in her sleep of natural
causes at her Bel-Air home, according to publicist Meg McDonald. She
experienced health problems since suffering a stroke at 85, but her
mind was sharp until her death, her son Christopher Ward said.

Wyatt had a successful film career in the 1930s and ’40s, notably as Ronald Colman’s lover in 1937’s ”Lost Horizon.”

But it was her years as Robert Young’s TV wife, Margaret Anderson, on ”Father Knows Best” that brought the actress her lasting fame.

She
appeared in 207 half-hour episodes from 1954 to 1960 and won three
Emmys as best actress in a dramatic series in the years 1958 to 1960.
The show began as a radio sitcom in 1949; it moved to television in
1954.

”Being a family show, we all had to stick around,” she
once said. ”Even though each show was centered on one of the five
members of the family, I always had to be there to deliver such lines
as `Eat your dinner, dear,’ or `How did you do in school today?’ We got
along fine, but after the first few years, it’s really difficult to
have to face the same people day after day.”

The Anderson
children were played by Elinor Donahue, Billy Gray and Lauren Chapin,
and all grew up on the show. In later years critics claimed that shows
like ”Father Knows Best” and ”Ozzie and Harriet” presented a
glossy, unreal view of the American family.

In defense, Wyatt
commented in 1966: ”We tried to preserve the tradition that every show
had something to say. The children were complicated personally, not
just kids. We weren’t just five Pollyannas.”

”In real life my
grandmother embodied the persona of Margaret Anderson,” said grandson
Nicholas Ward. ”She was loving and giving and always gave her time to
other people.”

It was a tribute to the popularity of the show
that after its run ended, it continued in reruns on CBS and ABC for
three years in primetime, a TV rarity. The show came to an end because
Young, who had also played the father in the radio version, had enough.
Wyatt remarked in 1965 that she was tired, too.

”The first year
was pure joy,” she said. ”The second year was when the problems set
in. We licked them, and the third year was smooth going. Fatigue began
to set in during the fourth year. We got through the fifth year because
we all thought it would be the last. The sixth? Pure hell.”

The
role wasn’t the only time in her 60 years in films and TV that Wyatt
was cast as the warm, compassionate wife and mother. She even played
Mr. Spock’s mom in the original ”Star Trek” series and the feature
”Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home.”

She got her start in films in
the mid-’30s, appearing in ”One More River,” ”Great Expectations,”
”We’re Only Human” and ”The Luckiest Girl in the World.” When Frank
Capra chose her to play the Shangri-la beauty in ”Lost Horizon,” her
reputation was made. Moviegoers were entranced by the scene — chaste
by today’s standards — in which Colman sees her swimming nude in a
mountain lake.

Never a star, Wyatt enjoyed career longevity with
her reliable portrayals of genteel, understanding women. Among the
notable films:

”Buckskin Frontier” (with Richard Dix), ”None But the Lonely Heart” (Cary Grant), ”Boomerang” (Dana Andrews), ”Gentleman’s Agreement” (Gregory Peck), ”Pitfall” (Dick Powell), ”No Minor Vices” (Dana Andrews), ”Canadian Pacific” (Randolph Scott), ”My Blue Heaven” (Betty Grable, Dan Dailey) and ”Criminal Lawyer” (Pat O’Brien).

”Father
Knows Best” enjoyed such lasting popularity in reruns and people’s
memories that the cast returned years later for two reunion movies. She
also remained active on other projects, such as ”Amityville: The Evil
Escapes” in 1989, and in charity work.

When Young died in 1998, Wyatt paid tribute to him as ”simply one of the finest people to grace our industry.”

”Though
we never socialized off the set, we were together every day for six
years, and during that time he never pulled rank (and) always treated
his on-screen family with the same affection and courtesy he showed his
loved ones in his private life,” she said.

Wyatt was born in
Campgaw, N.J., into a wealthy family in 1910, according to McDonald,
her publicist. Her father, an investment banker, came from an old-line
New York family, as did her mother, who wrote drama reviews. They gave
their daughter a genteel upbringing, with her schooling at the
fashionable Miss Chapin’s school and Barnard College.

She
left college after two years to apprentice at the Berkshire Playhouse
in Stockbridge, Mass. For two years she alternated between Berkshire
and Broadway, appearing with Charles Laughton, Louis Calhern and Osgood Perkins.

While acting with Lillian Gish
in ”Joyous Season” in 1934, she got a contract offer from Universal
Pictures. She agreed, on condition she could spend half each year in
the theater.

During college, Wyatt attended a party at Hyde Park, N.Y., given by the sons of Franklin D. Roosevelt. There she met a Harvard student, Edgar Ward. In 1935 she married Ward, then a businessman, in Santa Fe, N.M.

The family will gather for a funeral mass Friday, followed by a private interment, family members said.

Wyatt
is survived by sons Christopher, of Piedmont, California and Michael of
Los Angeles; three grandchildren Nicholas, Andrew and Laura; and five
great grandchildren.