I wrote about counterfeit stamps, hidden wine cellars, obscure museums where the public wasn’t welcome, and Italian train bandits. I interviewed Elaine Stritch, Natalie Cole, Art Carney, Carl Reiner, Henry Moore, and Cary Grant (I asked him if he got laid a lot and he assured me he did). I even got to have lunch with Richard Burton, and when I asked him what he wanted to drink, he said, “Anything, sweetheart, as long it floats an ice cube.”

And then, one day, it ended.

No one said goodbye. There was no handshake. I’m not sure if anyone even noticed. It was 1982. I left France for England to write books. By then, the IHT was desperate to become a serious business newspaper, to do battle with the newly arrived Wall Street Journal European Edition.

No one there today remembers me, or what the IHT and I shared. Waverley is gone. Mary has moved on. Mike and Hebe and Buddy are gone. So is Dick.

Intellectually, I understand why the NYT has turned off the life support machine. But I will never forgive them for doing that.

They’re going to bury my newspaper.

The International Herald Tribune is dead.

So what if I was just another one of her suitors?

Mon amour, we’ll always have the rue de Berri.

Correction posted May 3, 2013: The story was amended to note that Murray Weiss began his career at the New York Herald Tribune, not the IHT.


Jeffrey Robinson is the international bestselling author of 27 books.