“On March 8, 1947, a baby girl would be born who would celebrate what it means to be a woman over 50! and so….”
This was the message my friend, Hane, scribbled on the plain brown paper wrapping that held a present for me. I hurriedly ripped off the paper and shrieked with delight when I saw the gift.
While she was cleaning out the apartment of a friend who recently died, Hane spotted a folder filled with dozens of old New Yorker covers. This cover caught her eye and she realized it was on the issue that came out the day of my birth.
When Hane showed the cover to her son, he was astounded because the illustration had significance, too. “It looks like a group of FOF women of the day,” he told her.
It sure does.
This is the best present I’ve ever received (except, of course, for the roses my children give me on Mother’s Day.) Hane had it framed and it now proudly sits on the mantle of the living room fireplace.
Constantin Alajalov, the Russian artist, had his first New Yorker cover published when he was 25.