'have I Got A Story!'

Charlie McCabe, a vice-president of Manufacturers Hanover, which sponsors, among many things, the New York City Marathon and the Westchester Classic golf tournament, says of Goldstein, "He's the General Patton of sports p.r. He gets to Paris first, even though he might beat up on the wounded." Goldstein's sense of history is offended: "That was Sicily in the summer of '43. Patton didn't ever go to Paris." At Mobil, Herb Schmertz, vice-president of public affairs, says, "Joey is right out of Damon Runyon. In fact, if Damon Runyon were alive, he'd be writing about Joey."

True. For Goldstein is a Runyonesque character who still refers to bars as saloons and thinks of Manhattan phone numbers in terms of such outdated exchanges as GRamercy, PLaza and Circle. He is excessively generous with friends and will hire a limo to make them comfortable, though he rides New York City buses and has been seen emptying rest room dispensers of paper towels to take back to his office.

And the flattery. Everywhere, he bestows flattery. It's phony through and through, but somehow it works. A secretary has flowers on her desk, so Goldstein says, "Those flowers are so gorgeous. They complement you, beautiful one." Another office, another secretary: "I've always been susceptible to Nordic beauty." To a reporter he says: "You're doing your usual work. Routinely brilliant." Does anyone believe this junk? No. Do they like it? Yes.

The secret of Goldstein is the person-to-person nature of his work. His company, Joe Goldstein Public Relations, has 13 employees but the other 12 don't have jobs without Joey. Big public relations companies waste time and money on slick proposals and useless, albeit often beautiful, press kits. Goldstein operates out of his pockets. He scribbles notes on pink cards, then loses them.

Goldstein is forever riffling through a cluttered briefcase that is without hope. If there is anything slick about him, it escapes attention. He just talks. Oh, yes, and gets results. "And I'm a little bit better organized than it looks," he says defensively. Please let that be true. Happily, Helene handles the financial end because, Joey says, "I can't dun people. It goes against my image as an artist."

Lebow readily confesses that pre-Goldstein, the New York City Marathon was going nowhere. "People maybe thought it was a dance marathon," says Lebow. "I don't know. Then Joey arrived [in 1976] and the rest is history." Suddenly, the race was publicized everywhere. Similarly, harness racing garners little attention in print, mainly because the public cares so little about it. But from the time Goldstein started working full-time for Roosevelt Raceway on Long Island in 1954, and later took over p.r. for the entire sport, until he gave it up in 1980, he generated attention far beyond the public's interest. For example, take the time that a French trotter named Jamin came to the U.S. for the International at Roosevelt Raceway. Goldstein created, well, the myth that Jamin had to have artichokes to survive. There were no artichokes. Finally, some were found in California. An airline flew them to Idlewild (now Kennedy) Airport, some 12 miles from the track, free; a helicopter hurried them over to Roosevelt; pencils scribbled and cameras rolled; Jamin won the race. Never mind that the value of the artichokes to the horse was as a laxative. What a story!

But harness racing decided in the early '80s to save the money it was paying Goldstein and promote itself. It has been a dismal experiment and the sport—Joeyless, artichokeless—has all but disappeared from public attention.

Goldstein doesn't just run around saying, "Please put Mobil's name in the paper, please mention the Marathon, please mention Hope's TV special." Sure, he tries to create news, but more significant, he has the clout to produce legitimate sports people for legitimate interviews for legitimate stories. Athletes like him and will cooperate. Goldstein even got Joe Frazier to cooperate with the press, which ranks up there among world wonders.

Naturally, athletes like Goldstein because he gets them on TV or in print. Goldstein not long ago wanted Olympic hurdler Greg Foster to do some interviews in New York before a Mobil-sponsored meet. "I wouldn't do this for anyone but Coach," said Foster, in reference to Goldstein. Joey lured Foster with the offer of a hotel room, theater tickets ("I'll get you Cats") and transportation to workout facilities.

Underlying it all, Goldstein is an event, a happening. He constantly interrupts, he routinely is late, he's always on the phone or lusting after one. He acts important, therefore he is. "I'm good and I'm conscientious and I'm always the brightest one at the meeting," he says modestly.