They don’t write ‘em like that anymore, Torn Slatterns and Nugget Ranchers


John McCain cancelled his debate with Barack Obama to fly back to Washington to help fix the economy; apparently McCain is under the impression our national economy is like a gas-powered lawn mower in the garage. “Here, let me take a look at that . . .”


The Richard Gere, Diane Lane movie “Nights in Rodanthe” opens this weekend. Now, I don’t want to say this is a chick flick, but some guys see it and report immediately experiencing PMS.


Britney Spears’s mother, Lynn Spears, has written a book on parenting. That’s like President Bush writing a book on public speaking.


You know what would have made a great ticket? Ex-Russian President Vladimir Putin and Sarah Palin. Putin and Palin. It sounds like the worst country radio morning show ever. “Howdy, I’m Putin. “And I’m Palin.” “Together were Putin and Palin your mornin’ away. Nee Haw!”


Britney Spears’s mother, Lynn Spears, has written a book on parenting. That’s like Dick Cheney writing a book on charm.

Sarah Palin enjoyed her trip to the U.N. It was a little awkward when Palin said she enjoyed meeting royalty from other countries but she was disappointed she didn’t meet that Larry King.


Britney Spears’s mother, Lynn Spears, has written a book on parenting. It’s the perfect guide for all parents who want their kids to end up staggering drunk in Hollywood flashing their lack of underwear.


John McCain has 13 cars and trucks. He doesn’t need 13, he just has to buy a new one when he forgets where he parked the last one.


Lex’s two Paul Newman stories:

Lex’s Paul Newman story #1.

After a great mid-week, late summer touch football game in Central Park, two of my fellow bond broker buddies and I were walking down I think Park Avenue on the Upper East side, circa early Eighties, when we came upon what looked like a movie set. After a few questions we were told that it was actually a Japanese car commercial starring Paul Newman.

When we asked what time he was coming out they pointed to his trailer and said;

“Well, he us supposed to come out at Eight O’Clock but you know how stars are.”

As it was about ten minutes to Eight O’Clock, we decided to wait until eight, but if he didn’t show we were gone. Busy young men and all that.

At Eight O’Clock sharp, out popped Paul Newman. He smiled shook hands and spotted me standing there with a football and joked.

“Hey, are we filming a commercial or playing football?”

It was amazing. It was the exact same voice that said;

“I couldn’t do that? Could you do that? How can they do that? Who are those guys?”

He then gave me the universal sign for “Throw me the ball.” Which I did. He caught it just fine but I remember thinking - as I gave him the throw it back sign - for a split second I worried if Butch Cassidy wouldn’t be able to throw a spiral or, even worse, if he threw like a girl.

No worries. Back came a tight spiral. We must have tossed it a couple of times – at least I think it was a couple - and then he walked over and I shook his hand. Not to get all Clay Aiken, but his eyes were amazingly blue - just this side of creepy - and he was one damn good looking dude. But I was most aware of how thin the guy was. And I mean small boned. My big mitt almost wrapped around his entire hand. Make no mistake about it, though, the man had the presence and aura of a King. A real class act.

Yes, Slattlies and Nuggsters, the Lexter Dexter had a brief game of catch with Cool Hand Luke.

Lex’s Paul Newman story #2.

A couple years later, a quirky guy we worked with - among other quirks the guy would fall asleep at the drop of the hat - came in with an amazing story of the night before. For a young guy on a limited salary, this guy, who we called Shappy, somehow owned a house in the very rich town of Greenwich Connecticut and commuted in by train.

Shap was on the train home sitting next to a very pleasant woman about his age and they struck up a friendly conversation. Suddenly she popped up as it was her station. (His was the next one) After she had gone, Shap noticed she had left her purse. Shapper took the purse with him, got home and called a number he found in the purse and, sure enough, it was her number.

She thanked him profusely for grabbing the purse and then asked if she could ask him a huge favor. She said she couldn’t drive without the glasses she left in the purse and would he mind bringing them over to her house. No problem, they only lived a mile or so away.

Shapp pulls into the long circular driveway of a big and beautiful – even for Greenwich Connecticut - home and who opens the door? Joanne Woodward. Then Paul Newman came up coffee mug in hand – I remember being disappointed it wasn’t a beer. But then he asked Shap if he wanted a beer. Bless his quirky heart, Shep took him up on it. Turns out the girl was Paul and Joanne’s daughter, Melissa. All of them thanked him profusely again.

They then asked if he wanted anything to eat – he said no – and if he wanted a tour, to which he said yes. Paul took him out to this huge barn-like structure which Paul – I call him Paul because we were so tight – gave Shap a guided tour of his vast car collection. He even told him the story of the car Robert Redford stole and returned crushed into a three by three by three block. To which Newman famously sent it back with the note:

“Thanks for the car, but I am going to have to return it because the F’er won’t start.”

Again, class, humor, good looks, great athlete, style, grace.

There are just so damn few of us.