On Patti LaBelle’s 80th birthday, I remember her hotel room smelling horrible

Two old stories crushed my memory this week. They connect to today, so I suddenly remember each one:

People magazine covering Patti LaBelle’s 80th birthday reminded me of our interview a long time ago in a New York hotel. She lived well. Six-inch pointed heels, 3,000 pairs.

From the elevator, his fourth floor smelled bad. Forget the perfume. The whole floor stank of liver and onions so bad you could have sniffed it in Colorado.

His hello for me? “Room service is lousy. Not like home food. A picky eater who hates spending money, I like to see my food. Room service sends a burger that tastes like crap and charges you $100. Patti LaBelle doesn’t eat crap! On the road, I cook for myself.

“I travel with an entire suitcase: my kitchen. Pots, pans, spices, dishes, hot plate, electric frying pan, two burner stove, everything. Last night I made shrimp and rice. 3am for Wyclef Jean I cooked fries, burgers and onion rings.

She even ate backstage – I think it was veal – right before she went on.

She said: “Girl, on the road, I get my butt cooked. I once went out with chicken in my teeth. Listen, I cook better than I sing.

OK, but the entire floor of this upscale hotel had the aroma of a White Tower.

Hello, Justice

Another ancient event. Stories have recently touched Supreme Court Justice Clarence Thomas. My encounter with him once suddenly strikes my conscience. I just remembered it.

Perhaps 20 years ago, hand-picked VIP lawyers gathered for a discussion at New York Law School in Florence, Italy. By invitation only. The venue, NYU’s Villa La Pietra. The rules of law were dissected. No outsiders allowed, but thanks to Barry Slotnick – one of our sharpest, toughest legal minds ever – I was OK, as long as I never brought it up.

I never talked about it. So, I only rely on memory. These hand-picked lawyers gathered to discuss presidential powers, presidential elections, wartime government, and the Court’s role in national campaigns.

By chance, Justice Thomas (inset) and I found ourselves together in a queue for an a la carte lunch. It’s hard to stay silent when faced with a judgment between roast beef sandwiches, a kilometer of tuna and hard-boiled eggs.

After the usual “I don’t talk to the press”, it was days, nights, the same bus together and perhaps a realization that I had the right to go because I knew my place. Finally, he spoke a little about these difficult first days of his appointment.

I then requested a formal interview which was never granted. This memory simply serves to affirm that Judge Thomas was the most polite, refined and respectable man you have ever met. Our tormented, obsessed government, and our toy DA, would be better off trying to save America – not destroy Supreme Court Justice Thomas.

To demonstrate how far we have come, Judge Judy and I had a leisurely dinner for two at Canaletto. It’s on East 60th. At night, calm. U.S. too. I had a deck of cards and Elvis, the polite owner, paid little attention to it as we sat in a dark corner, eating chicken and playing gin.

Definitely only in New York, kids, only in New York.