THURSDAY, AUGUST 15, 2002 — With the news that New York Post gossip columnist Neal Travis died yesterday of cancer, we all have a reason to raise a glass or two tonight — a fitting news reporter’s farewell — to a master of his trade.

Travis, who was born in New Zealand, was the prototype for the crowd of Commonwealth-reared reporters who invaded New York City in the 1970s and ’80s. Travis hit the ground in New York before Rupert Murdoch bought the Post, and set the standard for those who followed.

I never knew Travis personally, but his column, which started in 1993, ran the bulk of the time I lived in Manhattan in ’90s. I became addicted to his seemingly endless items, which often fused celebrity with politics. His column may have given him entrée into elite circles — his bigwig friends included former New York governor Mario Cuomo — but he was one of the most kind and courtly people I have ever dealt with professionally. Back when I worked at the Forward in New York, Travis was the first columnist to credit in print something I had written. These were the days before e-mail and you had to fax Travis at his home on Long Island. But he was always very gracious on the phone — more than he had to be — and generous when he used something of mine in one of his items.

It was only in 1998 when Travis credited a piece I wrote hinting at a difference of opinion within the Cuomo family, that I realized my own work was having some impact. The story involved the Democratic Party organization in New York and how Cuomo and his sons, former HUD secretary Andrew Cuomo and Chris Cuomo had a dispute over the direction of the party. The day Travis’s item came out, I received an irate voicemail from Chris Cuomo, who believed there was no daylight shining between any of the Cuomos. In light of Adam Nagourney’s July 14 New York Times Magazine piece, " In the Game of the Father, " which explored tensions between Mario and Andrew Cuomo, that story looks pretty good now.

Today’s Post runs fine tributes to Travis from Cindy Adams, his sometime competitor, and Steve Dunleavy, his partner in mischief within the Murdoch organization. The photograph of Dunleavy and Travis cavorting at Elaine’s is particularly moving. The photo captures a particular era at the storied Upper East Side saloon, when Hollywood stars rubbed shoulders with news hounds and police detectives. Influenced by columnists like Travis, I did my share of drinking there, but always at the bar in front, where owner Elaine Kaufman permits common folk to buy an affordable beer — $4 for a Becks, last time I checked — from Tommy the bartender.

With the loss of more true characters like Travis, that New York will soon be gone. But at least we can hold on to it in memory.