The stars

Goodbye, Donald. We'll miss your Margo Channing walk, your Bette Davis eyes, your Marie Dressler pout, your Joan Crawford shoulder pads, your Tallulah Bankhead grizzle of a voice, your Greta Garbo cliches, your Joan Rivers insults, your Elizabeth Taylor foo-foo dog, your Joan Collins revenge plots, your Auntie Mame suede shoes, your Totie Fields stomach, your George W. Bush "you're either with me or you're against me." You've gone to New York City to live your dreams on the Great White Way, promenade down Fifth Avenue, dine with the glitteratzi, and make the most of the martini-sipping, cigarette-holding urbanites who wear black on black. Life didn't have much to offer you in Florida, living in the large in the smallest of places.

I walked by your apartment at 8:00 this morning on my way to work. By instinct I looked in your vestibule. It looked just the same as before you left -- all white except the gray door, a pastel fresco the only hint of color. I wonder who'll occupy your apartment next. What kind of renter will you accept, or if you sell, what kind of buyer? The building wasn't very nice to you over the years, but then again ... you returned the favor in triplicate. You probably never knew how they laughed at you behind your back. I never laughed, however, because you'd given me some hints about your pain. I knew that every insult, every rude gesture, every unacceptable remark was rooted in a pain so deep, no surgeon could ever reach it. That's why I didn't really mind how you talked about me to my partner, to my friends, to people in the building.

Whether you intended it, you caused a lot of headaches in the building over the years, but I have to admit they were interesting headaches. You were infuriating but you kept us energized and engaged. We never had a dull moment on the second floor -- or anywhere else you went. Now that you're gone, it's a lot quieter, a lot more conservative, a lot more Republican. I know now why you had such monochromatic tastes. You didn't need color on your walls or in your clothing. Everything else in your life spanned the color spectrum better than the NBC peacock. Good luck in New York, Donald. We wish you the best.