I'm in

Back in the early 1970s in New York City, I drank at a restaurant in lower Manhattan. The owner often stood near the entrance, casually checking out those who entered and occasionally turning away a would-be patron. The famous and soon-to-be-famous in the art world drank at this establishment, I was later to learn. Then there were those like me, in the category of never to be famous. It astonished me that I passed inspection, as I was distinctly not a member of the cool crowd that gathered nightly. If I stood out at all, it was as a gangly young man wrapped in solitariness sitting on a stool, glass in hand.