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William C. Altreuter
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Tuesday, July 21, 2015

I'd forgotten that Donald Trump's lawyer was Roy Cohn. Cohn has always been a weird sort of personal monster to me: I used to have dreams about him. He was the ultimate fixer, a sleazy guy who seemed to know everyone, and who made his way in the world by making phone calls for favors to people who owed him one. Because his milieu was  The Bronx, where I regularly appeared when I was starting out, I was able to discern aspects of his presence and influence in a lot of corners. In fact, without knowing about my strange fascination with Cohn the guy who taught me this business once told me a story about he'd crossed paths with him. He'd done something small for him because he'd been asked to by a third party, and Cohn told him he could call if he ever needed something. Remo told me, "I thought it was a better idea to steer clear," and that should give you some idea of why Remo was a hero to me.  It's funny how it goes in this glamor profession; a lot more goes on beneath the surface than anybody who doesn't dwell there ever suspects. I am a snorkeler in my cove -- I can sometimes see the fish that swim near the top, and looking deeper I can see the old wrecks, and the reefs, but what goes on at those depths is an ecosystem that I am not a part of, and know little about.  

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