Mrs Morrison's Hotel

The 100% personal official blog for Patricia Kennealy Morrison, author, Celtic priestess, retired rock critic, wife of Jim

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Location: New York, New York, United States

I was, wait, sorry, that's "David Copperfield". Anyway, I was born in Brooklyn, grew up on Long Island, went to school in upstate NY and came straight back to Manhattan to live. Never lived anywhere else. Never wanted to. Got a job as a rock journalist, in the course of which I met and married a rock star (yeah, yeah, conflict of interest, who cares). Became a priestess in a Celtic Pagan tradition, and (based on sheer longevity) one of the most senior Witches around. Began writing my Keltiad series. Wrote a memoir of my time with my beloved consort (Strange Days: My Life With and Without Jim Morrison). See Favorite Books below for a big announcement...The Rennie Stride Mysteries. "There is no trick or cunning, no art or recipe, by which you can have in your writing that which you do not possess in yourself." ---Walt Whitman (Also @ and

Thursday, June 29, 2006

Hotel de Rocque

Saw in the NYTimes the other day how they've remade the funkily elegant old Navarro Hotel on Central Park South, a onetime rocknroll redoubt, into yet another preposterously expensive over-the-top residence.

Except for the fact that they kept giving the address as 110 CPS, where the Navarro was 112. Maybe I was stoned when Jim and I stayed there on two separate occasions six weeks apart back in 1970 and misremember the address. But I don't think I do, and I still have a matchbook to prove it. So either the Times is wrong (entirely possible) or it's the building next door they're reconstructing.

In any case, the Navarro was a nice little place to crash, spacious and airy, great park views out the front and great cityscape views out the back from the suites on the 25th floor that Jim and I inhabited. It not being as pricey or high-profile or groupie-accessible as the Plaza down the block (where the Doors stayed after the MSG show in '69) or the Essex House next door, Hendrix and other rockers were partial to it as well.

And now, either way, it's gone to Landmark Heaven with Penn Station and all the other lost buildings. Perhaps the new tenants will be driven crazy by ghostly crashing power chords and screaming lead vocals in the night. One can only hope.


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