Hugh McIlvanney: a night at the Algonquin with the master of prose

Hugh McIlvanney loved living in American hotels, he never wanted to come home. When we were on assignment in 1979 covering a few boxing stories over there, he scoured the local press looking for stories he could convince the Observer that it had to have, so we could have another week living in luxury.

One story he found involved his fellow Scot and actor Tom Conti. He was about to open in Whose Life is it Anyway on Broadway. We did a preview for one edition of the Observer, I photographed Tom running around Central Park and we got a Review front out of it.

The next week we went to the press night and Hugh was dressed immaculately in a crushed green velvet jacket. It was a great success for Conti and we went to the famous Sardi’s restaurant to wait for the first edition of the New York Times and the all-important review.

Sheridan Morley was there and Tina Brown was among the celebrities. It was a great night, everybody loved the play and drink was taken. We went back to the Algonquin Hotel on 44th street and I remember Hugh sitting up on one of the twin beds we had.

He soon fell asleep and I tried to take off his beautiful jacket. He woke with a start and grabbed me by the throat and yelled at me to leave him alone. When we woke up the next morning, both worse for wear, he moaned at me: “Why didn’t you wake me, my jacket is ruined?”

In the middle of the following night I remember Hugh phoning over two thousand words on Conti’s success to a nervous copytaker back in London. His diction got more pronounced and even more Scottish by the word. It must have taken over an hour to read over with every comma and “full point” heavily emphasised.

I had my head under two pillows trying to get some sleep, but what a privilege it was to hear a piece of superb prose, being read for the first time.

Photographer Eamonn McCabe worked at the Observer with Hugh McIlvanney for more than 10 years