My father's restaurant in the Parc Vendome on 57^th Street (we lived in an apartment on the eleventh floor) had an outdoor patio with a fountain in the rear where meals were served when the weather was mild and pleasant. While researching my novel, Nevermore, I read a biography of Damon Runyon and discovered that he was also a resident, occupying the penthouse of our building. This triggered a Proustian memory. I recalled a story which always made my parents laugh, in itself a rare occurrence. My father delighted in telling about the time one summer morning when he went downstairs to work and discovered all of the restaurant's garden furniture was missing. Theft was immediately suspected, although there was no sign of any break-in. After much investigation, the missing chairs and tables were discovered up on Runyon's terrace. It turned out that the writer had thrown a big party the night before and didn't have sufficient furnishings for his guests' comfort. So he sent a couple of his Broadway cronies (Harry the Horse and Nicely-Nicely Johnson come to mind,) down in the service elevator to "borrow" Castleholm's garden set-ups. However tenuous the connection, it thrilled me to rediscover the time my family crossed paths with the creator of Guys and Dolls.