The Laughingstock
May, 1961
There is Nothing quite so quaint as a recently outmoded way of dressing. So, now, there was some nudging and whispering among the newspapermen who frequented McSorley's in New York City when the old gentleman came in with something between a limp and a swagger, got up in a sky-blue jacket and waistcoat and dark blue trousers, a "polo" collar starched hard, cut so low as to expose the whole of his wiry brown throat and with a gap for a black satin necktie knotted as thick as your wrist...
