Those of us of a certain generation remember vividly where we were when we first heard that the president, John F. Kennedy, had been shot. We did not understand what we had heard at first, but after we found a radio, we listened to Walter Cronkite telling us that our president was dead, slain by an

It’s called Washington Heights. What heights, and why Washington? The Washington part refers to our first president, and heights to a section of Manhattan’s Upper West Side that indeed deserves the name because of its high elevation. Boarding the No. 1 Broadway Local subway, I took a rid

An illustrated, 70-page advertising supplement lies inside my New York Times most Thursdays when I check my mailbox at America House. Called HOMES, it carries the subtitle “The Finest Luxury Properties in Manhattan and Around the World.” I live, however, not at America House on West 56th

A few weeks ago, Andrew Sullivan, a senior editor of The New Republic, wrote an impassioned article that appeared in the op-ed section of The New York Times, entitled Losing a Church, Keeping the Faith. In his article, Mr. Sullivan discussed his ardent desire to reconcile his homosexuality with his

November, with its feast of All Saints and the memorial of All Souls, reminds us of the dead who have played a role in our lives and whose presence we deeply miss. They may be friends or relatives or—in my case—parishioners, like those whom I knew well at my former parish in Washington,

St. Patrick’s Cathedral—no, not the famous one on Fifth Avenue in New York City, but the original one of the same name in lower Manhattan—is not far from where I live, and from time to time I stop by to enjoy its soaring space and historical associations with the Jesuit order. Offi