How I became Peter Fallow
It was Clay Felker, the editor of New York magazine, who introduced me to Tom Wolfe. This was at the beginning of the Seventies, the magazine that Felker and Milton Glaser had conjured from the supplement to the defunct New York Herald Tribune was throwing off energy like a cyclotron and Wolfe was one of its marquee names. We hit it off. He was at once as mannerly and as Out There as one of his white suits. I vividly recall walking with him through a party, I’m pretty sure at Harper’s Magazine, certainly at a time when the bruises left by Radical Chic, his skewering of a party given by the conductor Leonard Bernstein for the Black Panthers, were still throbbing.
