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003			NULRC
005			20250520094940.0
008			250520s9999 xx 000 0 und d
020			_a452263220
040			_cNULRC
050			_aPN 4900 .M34 1988
100			_aMahon, Gigi _eauthor
245		4	_aThe Last days of The New Yorker / _cGigi Mahon
260			_aNew York : _bNew American Library, _cc1988
300			_aix, 358 pages ; _c21 cm.
504			_aIncludes index.
520			_aWhen you enter 25 West Forty-third Street, the building that houses the offices of The New Yorker, you do so with the confidence that comes from moving through the world knowing not just where you are in place, but where you are in time. When you ride the elevator and exit on the nineteenth floor, the confidence crumbles. The overwhelming impression there is one of ages gone by. You have stepped into another decade. Perhaps the year is 1930, or maybe 1955. It is not 1988. A receptionist sits in a booth behind a sliding glass window such as one finds in some dentists' offices. The small waiting area she guards is neither welcoming nor fashionable (fashion-able lobbies are for mass market magazines) but rather resembles the set of a Sam Spade mystery. It is barely functional. The suite of furniture consists of two aged but not antique brown wooden chairs, a round brass tray-type table, and a small end table on which perches a large nondescript lamp. The cord from the lamp runs upward to an outlet almost in the middle of the wall. The chairs are often not functional, since they are frequently piled high with envelopes and other assorted papers.
650			_aNEW YORKER (NEW YORK, NY : 1925) -- HISTORY
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999			_c7108 _d7108