Final Words of a Grand Old New York Writer

Ray Robinson and Ernestine Miller at his 95th party

As he passed 80, Ray Robinson had an idea for a new book – the last recorded words of prominent people.

He knew how to write books, of course – the Lou Gehrig bio, the Christy Mathewson bio. He was a magazine editor and a freelance writer.

The book came out in 2003, when Ray was 83 – “Famous Last Words: Fond Farewells, Deathbed Diatribes and Exclamations Upon Expiration,” published by Workman Publishing.

It fits in the hand or the pocket. Perfect quick-take reading. Perfect little gift.

This is a blatant plug. Ray would approve.

Alas, Ray Robinson passed on Nov. 1. He would have been 97 on Dec. 4 and was to be honored by a coterie of baseball buffs who meet monthly in the city.

Ray’s last words? I don’t know, but I talked to him the night before. What was on his mind was a perfect guide to this grand old man of New York and Columbia University and publishing.

In our last chat he did not bring up seeing Fidel Castro in Havana or how he met Lou Gehrig as a young New York fan or how he spilt ink on Lefty Grove while asking for an autograph at Yankee Stadium, or his activism with the ALS Association of New York, in homage to Gehrig.

Neither did he tell the great story of how a precocious New York girl named Betty Perske called him a “cheap SOB” or maybe it was “cheap bastard.”

This underscored link will explain the brief meeting of Ray and the future Lauren Bacall.) 

       Among Ray’s last words to me:

• The World Series, of course – were the baseballs juiced? Why couldn’t starters go deep into a game like Matty or Koufax?
• His back was getting worse, and it was hard to walk a few blocks. Just a few years ago he would walk to lunch, and take a bus or subway to the theater or doctor. 
• He was feeling a little better since the death of his wife, Phyllis Robinson, also a writer and editor and a former member of the Lindsay administration, in March, after not being her vibrant self for many years. “But when I walk past her photo, I get a tear in my eye,” he admitted -- as close to sentimental as he ever went.
• He talked about his three children, all grown, all successful.
• He talked about wanting to see Pete Hamill – and how he “discovered” Pete and Jimmy Breslin and Dick Schaap. (And no doubt underpaid them all for free-lance magazine gigs.
• He talked about my prediction almost a year ago that our fellow New Yorker, Trump, would be bounced within 18 months. “I hope you’re right,” he said. 
• But Ray Robinson’s final words I will remember the most were praise for the admirable family from Trinidad that kept him and Phyllis going for many years. He praised the husband, Ed, “who can fix anything,” and the caretaker, Lorna, who knows everything. And Ray adored their young daughter with the distinctive name who was acing New York and a very good public grade school. 
• Ray’s words were avuncular, but he was perplexed because the bright little girl had been counting on him to get her into his beloved Columbia when the time came. “But lately, she’s saying she wants to go to Yale,” Ray told me. “I don’t understand it. I will have to look into this.” Consider it his recommendation of her --to Columbia.

Ray’s passing will leave a huge gap in our lives -- for Jerry, our token ball player, who escorted Ray to the doctor, and Ernestine, who fussed over Ray, and Darrell, one of the originals from 1991 (!), and Lee and Marty and Willie from our group, and Bob and Jeremy, the busy superstars, plus Al and Rosa, who knew Ray and Phyllis forever, and all the other buffs who sat around the table once a month and talked baseball and politics and everything else.​

We’ll meet on his birthday, I’m sure, and try to remember some of Ray’s good stories.

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