George Gurley and his wife Hilly. Illustration by Philip Burke. (Courtesy New York Observer Archives)

A Journey to the End of the Night With George Gurley

It was a quiet Sunday night at Milano’s on Houston Street with a Cary Grant flick on the set and George Gurley slow-feeding bills into the jukebox. He was just playing the good stuff: Byrds, Stones, Zep. Mr. Gurley was there because I thought I would get him to explain how New Yorkers should act in 2015, what sucked about the last year, maybe run into some colorful characters at the bar and get them to say outrageous things with the tape rolling. He’s done that in these pages for decades.

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