Steve Dunleavy, RIP

Instapundit: Steve Dunleavy, RIP

NY Post: Legend

Some people really are legends: 

On one occasion that has passed into tabloid legend, a group of reporters had gathered at Elaine’s, the media hangout on Second Avenue at Eighty-eighth Street. “It was midwinter, and there was snow everywhere,” George Gordon, a former correspondent for the London Daily Mail, recalled recently. “There was a young Australian journalist who had brought along his fiancée, an attractive Norwegian shipping heiress. She and Dunleavy got into a conversation. Eventually, somebody said, ‘Let’s go to a bar across the street,’ and we all went over. When we got there, everybody in the bar had flocked to this huge picture window. They were watching Dunleavy and the fiancée humping in the snow, arses going up and down. As we were watching, a snowplow came up the street and ran over Dunleavy’s foot. By this time, the entire bar was in uproarious laughter. Dunleavy limped in and rolled down his sock to reveal this big blackened limb. He was so loaded that it didn’t matter, but as the night wore on even he said there was something wrong. We called an ambulance, and he checked into a local hospital. He’d broken his foot.” Antics like this didn’t impress everybody. When somebody relayed the story of Dunleavy’s fracture to Pete Hamill, he replied, “I hope it wasn’t his writing foot.”

Rest in peace Steve Dunleavy. The world truly is less colorful and interesting without you.