Ever since my Uncle Nevie was cured of cancer, he’s become a big cheerleader for gene therapy. I don’t really understand what gene therapy is, so I was glad there was a short Kevin Kline-narrated animated video to explain how it works at the annual Samuel Waxman Foundation gala. Well, despite some nifty graphics and frequent use of the phrase “cell differentiation,” I still don’t.
But on Thursday night, a room filled with 1,000 people all looking shockingly bullish convinced me that this Dr. Waxman is onto something.
What a party. At the 69th Regiment Armory (which is not the armory on 67th Street, I learned) the foundation did a five-day buyout. Led by Robin Lathrop of By Robin, they started by covering every square inch with fabric and carpet.
Then they hired Steely Dan (“Rikki Don’t Lose That Number”) as the house band, and erected a giant screen to show their super well-intentioned if slightly confusing animation. Throw in a well-staged fashion show and silent auction, a bar as long as a city block, a cancer schmancer, and ya got yourself a shindig.
They even built a secret nightclub in the back corner of the armory, which housed their own after-party, sans the taxis and hassle of having to file in to some off-site nightclub. They kept it edgy, hired rockabilly band the Lost Trailers, and poured shots of Jack. Yahoo!
Restaurant Associates did the catering, which was chicken. Making a little crudités and bread dip part of the table display was clever and took the edge off this reporter’s hunger pangs. They served Talus wines; my thanks to whoever made that call.
I did actually learn two things. The Samuel Waxman Foundation has found a cure for acute leukemia, which almost no one used to survive, and they know how to throw down.
Sign me up.
Speaking of signing up, the bidding was less robust, the pockets not quite as deep, but the spirits just as high in the Bowery Hotel Ballroom the same night at Art Rocks—which has no affiliation with Condé Nast and its now-cancelled Fashion Rocks event. Although they originally promised Keith Richards, they did at least deliver model and constant do-gooder Maggie Rizer. (Why can’t all models be like her? Oh nevermind, the question answers itself.)
Certainly everyone looked like a rock star—boy, it’s been a long time since I’ve been to a party like this. Every single guy had some flair going on. This one’s had a cravat, that one had a lanyard around his head, and in the corner there appeared to be a pirate. Fun.
Outside, the smoking section was doing big business—nice for a change. There was an art installation that featured a knife, some broken glass, and a lobster that artist Matisse Paterson’s assistant dutifully doused with water while insisting it was still alive (although no one had seen it move in half an hour). So they killed a lobster, isn’t all fair in love and art?
Miraculously, some hot and toothsome crab cakes make it my way. (Parties like this almost never have food.) As I said, the auction seemed a bit slow, but Art Rocks, publicized by Charlotte Ronson and Maggie Rizer to raise money for Columbia University’s Naomi Berrie Diabetes Center, delivered the goods on the cool, and I bet these ticket buyers will be back.
