D AV I D PAT R I C K C O L U M B I A tr aditional home pre sented the hampton de signer showhouse in bridgehampton
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American economy and Wall Street in the Panic of 1907. His grandfather J.P. Morgan, Jr., always called Jack, built the Morgan Library and was a partner in J.P. Morgan. And Sonja’s ex-husband’s father Henry Sturgis Morgan (who had five sons), started Morgan Stanley with Mr. Stanley and some others, after the breakup of the banks and the investment banking houses back in the 1930s (repealed at the end of the ’90s). Also, his great-great-grandfather Joseph Morgan started Aetna Insurance. Sonja first met John Morgan back in the mid-90s when she was working as a hostess at San Pietro, the upscale Italian restaurant (excellent cuisine) on Madison Avenue and 54th Street. A famous meeting place for New York’s high-powered businessmen to 40 QUEST
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lunch. I ended up writing an article about Sonja (which I’ve put on these pages somewhere before), and how she was working at San Pietro. Before Sonja, I didn’t know that women who were called “hostesses” at restaurants, could have an “executive” quality to their work. Sonja did. And does. After the article was published, the owners fired her. There were those who claimed that Sonja’s executive qualities had an important erotic side to them. Sonja had come from upstate in Albany, having put herself through college to get into business. It is the classic yearn for the “Big Time” that draws a certain kind of man and a certain kind of woman to New York. Her conversation was all about business. She wanted to be in business. She intended
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to be in business. She was (my word, not hers) a natural entrepreneur. The reason she liked the job at San Pietro was because she got to make connections. She wanted to know these guys. She wasn’t looking for a husband (although it’s not uncommon for a woman of her age and position in New York to “hope” for a husband). She wanted to know how these men worked, what they thought. John Morgan, who is in the investment business, was a regular client at the restaurant. Sonja liked him, although she didn’t really know him. She sat him in the section of the restaurant she called, “the back” (actually it’s next to the front—the restaurant is not large), because he was a “lousy tipper.” Everyone knew it: the waiters, the busboys, etc.
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And so, Mr. Morgan (which is what she called him), deprived the Big Tippers from a Good Table. After she lost her job at San Pietro, thanks to my glowing review in Quest, undaunted and having a little money saved, Sonja launched herself as a kind of producer/ consultant/conduit. Sonja is forthright and friendly, but also interested in others. I’d run into her every now and then. She had made some business deals and had bought herself an apartment on East 57th Street. She also had a small apartment she’d rented in Los Angeles. In the summer, it was the Hamptons; in winter, it was St. Bart’s and Aspen. One day while skiing in Aspen (I think it was Aspen), she ran into Mr. Morgan on the slopes. Still calling him Mr.
Pat r i c k m c m u ll a n
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