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Jimmy Neary, Whose Irish Pub Became a Power Brokers’ Hub, Dies at 91

James Joseph Neary was born in Tubbercurry on Sept. 14, 1930. His father, Patrick, was a police officer and a farmer. His mother, Catherine (Marren) Neary, was a homemaker.

At school they poked fun at Jimmy for his size. But he later got the last laugh when he cleaned out everyone’s pockets at a poker game. With his winnings he bought two lambs, which he bred into more lambs, which he then sold. At 24, he purchased an ocean liner ticket to America with the earnings.

“You’re so small,” he recounted his mother telling him. “What are you going to do in America?”

“I have no idea, mum,” he said. “But I’m on my way.”

Arriving in Manhattan, Mr. Neary was greeted at the pier by his older brother, John, a police officer who had immigrated earlier. Jimmy soon found a job as a porter at the New York Athletic Club and a place to live in the Bronx. Drafted into the Army, he learned how to drive a tank at Fort Hood in Texas before being deployed to Germany. After his service, back in New York, he tended bar at P.J. Moriarty’s for years.

Mr. Neary was pouring pints one evening when he met Eileen Twomey, whom he married in 1966. The next year, he opened Neary’s with a fellow bartender, Brian Mulligan, who remained his partner until he died in the mid-1980s.

Around that time Mr. Neary bought the building housing the restaurant — a purchase that served him well decades later when the coronavirus pandemic gripped New York. As other businesses closed because they couldn’t make rent, Neary’s stayed afloat. His daughter Una, who worked for her father as a waitress in her younger years and then helped him run the place while holding down her day job in finance, will continue to oversee the business.

In addition to her, Mr. Neary is survived by two other daughters, Ann Marie Bergwall and Eileen Bowers; his son, Patrick; and eight grandchildren.

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Robert Durst, Millionaire Convicted of Murder, on Ventilator With Covid

Robert A. Durst, a former real estate mogul, is on a ventilator in a Los Angeles hospital after testing positive for Covid-19, days after being sentenced to life in prison for the 2000 murder of his confidante.

“We were notified that he tested positive for Covid,” his lawyer, Dick DeGuerin, said on Saturday.

Mr. Durst, 78, was admitted Friday night to LAC+USC Medical Center, according to the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department’s inmate locator. The district attorney’s office said it could not comment because of medical privacy laws.

At a sentencing hearing on Thursday, Mr. Durst sat slumped in a wheelchair. He wore a brown prison jumper and a mask. At times, his breathing appeared labored. He pulled down his mask, only to raise it again moments later.

“His health deteriorated over the weeks of the trial,” Mr. DeGuerin said. “On Thursday, he looked like death warmed over.”

Mr. Durst was frail and had numerous health problems but was alert during the four-month trial that ended on Sept. 17 with a first-degree murder conviction. Mr. Durst, whose life story inspired a Hollywood movie and an HBO documentary, will not be eligible for parole.

The jury that convicted him in Los Angeles found that the prosecution had proven special circumstances – namely, that Mr. Durst shot Susan Berman, a journalist and screenwriter, because he feared she was about to tell investigators what she had learned as his spokewoman to the news media after the 1982 disappearance of his first wife, Kathie McCormack Durst.

Mr. Durst faces a possible murder indictment in New York in connection with the disappearance of Kathie Durst. Miriam E. Rocah, the district attorney of Westchester County, N.Y., reopened the investigation earlier this year and planned to put numerous witnesses in front of a grand jury.

Mr. Durst acknowledged to filmmakers that before Ms. Durst disappeared, his marriage included “half arguments, fighting, slapping, pushing” and “wrestling” But he insisted, he did not kill her.

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Homes That Sold for Around $1 Million

Each week, our survey of recent residential sales in New York City and the surrounding region focuses on homes that sold around a certain price point, allowing you to compare single-family homes, condos and co-ops in different locales.

The “list price” is the asking price when the property came on the market with the most recent broker. The time on the market is measured from the most recent listing to the closing date of the sale.

New Jersey | 4 bedrooms, 3½ baths

A 34-year-old, 3,608-square-foot, contemporary-style house, with a living room that has a vaulted ceiling and stone gas fireplace, and a kitchen with a breakfast bar and sliding doors to a deck on 1.35 acres.

18 weeks on the market

$975,000 list price

4% below list price

Costs $16,073 a year in taxes

Listing broker Coldwell Banker

Orange County | 4 bedrooms; 3 full and 2 half baths

This 21-year-old, 5,978-square-foot house has a kitchen with stainless-steel appliances, a formal dining room with a coffered ceiling, and a primary suite with a two-sided fireplace on about two-and-a-half acres.

14 weeks on the market

$965,000 list price

3% above list price

Costs $28,403 a year in taxes

Listing broker Howard Hanna/Rand Realty

Connecticut | 4 bedrooms, 3 baths

This 59-year-old, 1,894-square-foot, split-level-style house has a living room with a skylight and a fireplace, a kitchen with a skylight and granite counters, and a partially-finished basement on more than an acre.

15 weeks on the market

$875,000 list price

5% above list price

Costs $10,856 a year in taxes

Listing broker Berkshire Hathaway HomeServices New England Properties

Queens | 3 bedrooms, 3 baths

An 81-year-old, 1,330-square-foot, attached single-family house, with a living room that has hardwood floors, an eat-in kitchen, a finished basement and a parking space, on 0.04 acres.

16 weeks on the market

$888,888 list price

4% above list price

Costs $7,142 a year in taxes

Listing broker Douglas Elliman

Manhattan | 1 bedroom, 1 bath

A 650-square-foot prewar co-op, with hardwood floors, beamed ceilings, a kitchen with a breakfast bar and stainless-steel appliances, and four closets in a doorman building with an indoor pool.

29 weeks on the market

$1,075,000 list price

6% below list price

Costs $2,437 a month in maintenance

Listing broker Warburg Realty

Long Island | 3 bedrooms, 2 baths

This 64-year-old, 1,634-square-foot, vinyl-sided house has a combined living and dining room with a vaulted ceiling, a kitchen with a breakfast bar, a koi pond and a dock, on 0.17 acres.

11 weeks on the market

$879,000 list price

Less than 1% above list price

Costs $15,453 a year in taxes

Listing broker Douglas Elliman

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‘My Waitress Had Also Been Told That She Would Soon Be Laid Off’

Dear Diary:

In the mid-2000s, I worked for a company with offices on Park Avenue. I lived in Denver then and would fly to New York for meetings several times a year, staying at the company’s suites at the Waldorf Towers.

I often had breakfast at the hotel’s Coffee House, at 50th Street on the Lexington Avenue side. My usual order was tea and toast. The tea was served in a small pink teapot with a silver rim, a Waldorf signature.

The little teapots became a comforting morning staple on these trips. I was served by the same waitress over a period of years, and I often mentioned to her how I loved the teapots.

In October 2014, I read that the Waldorf had been sold. Then, while on my next trip to New York, I was notified that my company would be merging my division with one in Fort Worth and that I, along with 300 others, would be laid off. The trip would be my last.

The next morning I had my usual breakfast at the Coffee House. My waitress had also been told that she would soon be laid off. I said I would miss her and, of course, my little pink teapots.

It was my last morning at the hotel and I had already checked out. My travel bag was open on the floor next to the booth where I was sitting. I stepped away for a few minutes, returned, tipped the waitress and left for the last time. It was a sad morning.

When I got home to Denver and unpacked my bag, I found a little pink teapot wrapped in a hotel napkin along with a note. It said all of the old Waldorf china and silver was to be sold and that this was a souvenir from my many breakfasts there, compliments of a longtime friend.

— Mary F. Cook

Dear Diary:

I am on the F train
And two seats away is a man
Whose hair is too gray
For his sneakers.
He sits his iced coffee
On the space between us
Because it is too cold
To hold in his iPhone hands,
And I begin preparing
The furious words
I will say
If it tips over
And spills on me.
It never does,
But at least I was ready.

— Sarah Peele

Dear Diary:

Walking uptown on Fifth Avenue I heard Latin music blasting out of a little red car.

As the driver sped by, he had one hand on the wheel and the other was out the sunroof.

In time to the music, he was shaking a bright yellow maraca.

— Linda Schonfeld

Dear Diary:

For years, Mr. Kim and I have been racing to beat the clock: I try to get home from work before his dry-cleaning shop closes, and he tries to keep his delivery man around to help me bring my clothes home.

Sometimes we win, sometimes we lose, and sometimes we just wait until Saturday.

Recently, I called him from the subway to say that I would be making a pickup. We had a few confused exchanges, I entered a tunnel, we were disconnected and the race to beat the clock began.

I missed the delivery man, but Mr. Kim and I were happy to see each other. We chatted while he twist-tied four bundles of shirts. Seeing that I was already carrying two bags, he came out front to his sewing machine in a panic and started to dig through a heap of pants and jackets.

From the middle of the pile, like a sorcerer, he pulled out two matching, navy-blue cuffs that had been cut off the pants legs they once belonged to.

He looped them into a figure eight, and then hung two bundles from each loop, 25 shirts on hangers that he then draped over my shoulder, front and back.

It was the easiest giant load of laundry, dirty or clean, that I have ever hauled happily down Broadway and the long hill to Riverside Drive.

— Paul Klenk

Dear Diary:

The downtown A train was quiet and nearly empty as I rode downtown after a meeting in Midtown. Across from me was a young man with an extremely large plastic container of peeled garlic cloves.

Every so often, he would unscrew the lid and let the garlic aroma fill the subway car. Then he would intently re-tighten it until it was time for the next infusion.

No one complained.

— Karen Faye Richardson

Illustrations by Agnes Lee

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