Another candle on the cake

Sunday, my birthday, was atop the Freedom Tower’s One World Observatory. It was born seven years ago. I’m older.

Floor 102 was Mindy Levine and her Yankees president husband Randy Levine’s special dinner for me. Mindy Levine was remembering how it started for me.

I was set for college at 15. But Andrew Jackson High required females to make their own white lawn graduation dress in home ec. I can’t sew. After my mother paid a pro to finish it for me, the principal said: “She didn’t make her own dress, she can’t graduate.” So: No diploma, college, graduating high school. I’m living proof that you can’t get anywhere without a college education.

Years later, interviewing Prime Minister Nehru in New Delhi, an accompanying Library of Congress official inquired about my university. I said, “I never graduated high school.” Forget his reply. But I remember — and have since reported — Nehru pinched my behind walking in back of me.

Years later, outside Vientiane, I’m teaching English along the Mekong Delta. Parsing “exactly on time,” I had one student employ that precise phrase. She said, “I want a dress exactly on time” as yours. My teaching career ended.

Moving on up — slowly

Living in Asia, I’ve written articles riding on an elephant, and washed from a pith helmet in Surabaya. And once, in trouble before cells, computers or the abilities of Mindy Levine, and needing a telegram sent for immediate help, I asked would this wire go out immediately. Answer: “Oh, yes, this very week.” Back here, I negotiated an apartment. The building’s board chair then told my broker: “As if we’d let anyone like that gossip person live here.” I moved elsewhere.

A schmear focus

I tried modeling. I had 57 beauty titles. How legit? One p.r. guy named me Miss New Jersey — and I’d never been to New Jersey. Talk about big time, the Brooklyn Better Bagel Association crowned me Miss Bagel. A crown of shellacked bagels on my head. Mindy Levine actually found that photo, which was probably still stuck in someone’s cream cheese. My first interview? The Duchess of Windsor. In her Waldorf suite. Across their couch lay a huge tiger skin. “His Highness,” she said (that was the Duke) “shot it, is partial to it and it comes along whenever we travel.”

Big-time scoops

Came TV. Years on WNBC’s “Live at Five.” I recall one tight close-up while the contact lens in my right eye spiralled down my cheek. Anchor Sue Simmons’ Yorkshire terriers come from my same breeder. Once, closeted in a small room, door shut, with just her Yorkie, she smoked pot. The tiny 4-pound dog fell over. December ’79, my very first Post story was the Shah of Iran. Reporters covered his hospital’s sidewalk desperate for an interview. I alone had it. Front-page headline around the world: “NY Post exclusive interview with dying Shah.” The enormously grateful Post’s payment to me? A handful of stringy flowers. Like soup greens.

Mindy Levine and Yankees president Randy Levine — posting antique photos of me back when I was 16 — all around the 102nd floor of the World Trade Center which overlooks history — could happen only in New York, kids, only in New York.