AAt the Majestic Theater last week, Renee Zellweger called her Blondie and Tommy Tune sang “The Way You Look Tonight” with pictures of him dancing the “East Texas Push” with her, but that was not the showstopper at Liz Smith’s memorial: The distinction went to a video of Liz crooning “I’m an Old Cowhand, from the Rio Grande” in duet with Ann Richards, each one in full cowgirl regalia. Joni Evans told the stellar crowd—a who’s who of actors and show biz types– about getting Liz Smith to write her memoir, Natural Blonde, taking a seven-figure contract to actually get the gossip columnist to sit down. One speaker after another, from Barry Diller to Lesley Stahl to Holland Taylor and Bruce Willis, attested to the key ingredient of Liz Smith’s success: she was nice.

A neighbor to Liz for three decades, I knew that first hand. My first time seeing her face to face was when she showed up at my apartment after my daughter Nina was born, to give me a giant box of Pampers. She wanted to be sure that a vendor’s promotional sample would end up in the right hands. Over the years I would see her in the elevator, often with Iris Love, her sidekick on many adventures out and about town. On a particular New Year’s Eve, the two were dressed to kill as I was returning from editing a documentary I was making. When I told her how great she looked, Liz quipped with humble sincerity, I’d rather be home eating ice cream in bed. And when my film came out, she graciously gave it inches of space in her New York Post column.

At a reception at Sardi’s, Rex Reed told me Liz had given him his first job. Recently featured in a New York Times piece, Rex told me it was truly the end of an era. He told the interviewer a story about being set up on a date with Barbara Stanwyck. The writer never heard of her. Naturally Blonde is chockablock with stories about the biggest movie and literary stars of our time (Liz Taylor, Julia Roberts, Truman Capote and many more), all keenly and lovingly observed. I’d hate to think that any one of them would or could be forgotten, but most especially, the wonderful Liz Smith.

Regina Weinreich

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