No longer acting like a King

MY forever good friend, whom I’ve long loved, whose programs I’ve done, with whom I’ve breakfasted each morning I’m in Beverly Hills, with whom I’ve shared presidential conventions, whose home I’ve been in, who has visited my home, whose assorted wives I’ve known — the very special, one of a kind, supertalented best in our business Larry King — has trashed me.

A defunct Friars membership, once stamped US Prime, has come between us. In 1957, its clubhouse opened. Moses never heard so many one liners. Its lunchroom fed Big Macs into the big mouths of Jackie Gleason, Don Rickles, Damon Runyon, Jack Benny, Eddie Cantor, Jimmy Durante, Ed Sullivan, Bob Hope, Gracie Allen, Alan King, Al Jolson, W.C. Fields, Milton Berle, George Burns, George M. Cohan, Johnny Carson.

A former officer was Frank Sinatra. Recently, Stewie Stone. The 55th Street playground is now a lavatory. Larry’s its current Dean. Managing a club is maybe not his strong point. When big names have gone up and away, even their photos went away. Per p.r.’s Sy Presten: “The bar was named for disc jockey William B. Williams. When he died, it got renamed for Billy Crystal.” Now no room’s left for even living players. The club not only had a flood of money problems, it had an actual flood. It’s shut. And Larry King trashed me for reporting it.

I love Larry and the Friars. My husband was a member. Sorry it has fallen, and executive director Michael Gyure had to plead guilty to tax issues. I wish him good fortune. May he find lasting love with a porcupine. Let us look forward to the club’s next big event. They expect maybe 11 people. It’s a roast for Judy Garland’s uncle.