THE FIXER.(Howard Rubenstein, public relations executive)

For years, many of the city's wealthiest and most visible personalities have been represented by a somewhat achromatic gentleman who is paid to keep them in the public eye in times of triumph, out of the press in their hours of shame, and, in general, to provide advice, comfort, and refuge as the moment demands. Wearing dull suits and dull rimless glasses, this gentleman (and that is his demeanor: mild and well mannered in an old-fashioned way) has none of the swagger or elan of the public-relations men of an earlier era, like Ben Sonnenberg or Edward Bernays; nor does he frequent Elaine's, like Bobby Zarem, or guard the door at movie screenings, like Peggy Siegal. And yet he is ubiquitous, trusted, a kind of gentle fixer for those who run New York: its governments and newspapers, its cultural institutions, boardrooms, and sports teams. He is rarely recognized by the greater public, save, perhaps, as the invisible author of a well-placed quote in the gossip columns. "Flack," "mouthpiece"––these terms for P.R. men and women undersell the importance of Howard Rubenstein.

For some of the most prominent New Yorkers (and some of the dubious ones as well), Rubenstein, who is seventy-five, quietly helps control the damage and put the best gloss on their disasters: the marital blowup, the business implosion, the humiliating defeat. "Public-relations specialists make flower arrangements of the facts," the late novelist-essayist Alan Harrington once observed, "placing them so that the wilted and less attractive petals are hidden by sturdy blooms." Rubenstein's clients have included George Steinbrenner, Rupert Murdoch, Donald Trump, and Leona Helmsley; the Museum of Modern Art, the Guggenheim, the Metropolitan Opera, the New York Philharmonic, and the Whitney Museum; BMW North America, Mount Sinai Hospital, Time Inc., Bloomberg L.P., and the notorious Lizzie Grubman. He has advised the last six mayors and the last four governors. At Rubenstein Associates, the corridors are lined with photographs of Howard's "friends" and those of Presidents stretching back to Harry Truman. In one way or another, they have all looked to Rubenstein in an hour of need. The former governor George Pataki once said that had Howard Rubenstein been around to represent rats during the bubonic plague the headlines would have read "Rodents Unfairly Accused of Mild Rash."

Howard Rubenstein is widely regarded as a public-relations expert, and that does describe much of his business, but he is perhaps above all a master of relationships, of making connections; he is a kind of lubricant of the city's gears--someone who searches for ways to make those gears mesh. Wherever he goes, there are convergences of interests and clients, as happened at a recent opening for a Picasso show at the Whitney. Rubenstein was, of course, in attendance, and after he welcomed everyone and introduced the program--a program that Rubenstein Associates had, on the Whitney's behalf, assembled--New York's senior senator (and accomplished self-publicist), Charles E. Schumer, thanked "Howard for being a great friend to me for thirty years." Rubenstein, in turn, took the opportunity to praise other notables, before ceding the podium to the Whitney's chairman, Leonard Lauder, who is also the chairman of Estee Lauder (a Rubenstein client).

Lauder later recalled for me a time several years ago when the Whitney was having trouble with city zoning and community boards, and newspaper stories were criticizing the museum. Lauder turned to Rubenstein, who suggested which government and community leaders to contact and urged the Whitney to expand its press relations "beyond the art press." He also set up a meeting with the editor of the Post (the newspaper is another client). Rubenstein, Lauder says, "has the ability to make the connections where you never really thought any existed. These connections are subtle. He's almost like an absolutely one hundred per cent legitimate godfather. He will help you in something because he happens to know the person to connect with. Howard built his power base based on doing small or large favors for people. . . . He has a lot of chits out there."

The chits take many forms, from the occasional Yankees ticket to the attentions of a top surgeon; a meeting with a government official or an invitation to speak before one of the many organizations he represents or on whose board he sits. Among his chits is a reservation at his wife's celebrated restaurant, the Peter Luger Steak House, in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. Each day, Rubenstein's office holds three tables until late afternoon in case a friend calls.

Rubenstein has a special talent for bringing his clients together for their mutual benefit. The real-estate developer Donald Trump got a call from Rubenstein after Rupert Murdoch and his wife, Wendy, bought a Fifth Avenue apartment, in late 2004--Laurance Rockefeller's former triplex––for a reported forty-four million dollars. Rubenstein asked if Trump could help the Murdochs find a rental while they were waiting for their new place to be renovated. "Howard really wanted something special for Rupert," Trump says, and he found something suitable for the Murdochs. Everyone was happy: the Murdochs had shelter from the rain and wind, Trump had done something for the owner of a paper whose attentions he enjoys, and Rubenstein had performed another service.

Then, there are instances when two parties don't even want to talk, except through the discreet offices of Rubenstein Associates. When Murdoch, who owns the Post, and Mortimer B. Zuckerman, the owner of the rival News, wanted to arrange a ceasefire--a way to keep their private lives out of the pages of each other's tabloids--Rubenstein, according to a party to the discussions, was the natural broker. (Zuckerman, despite the Murdoch connection, had once hired Rubenstein to represent the real-estate company he co-founded in 1970, Boston Properties.) Lloyd Grove, who until late in 2006 wrote a gossip column in the News, confirms the print truce, saying, "It was communicated to me that there was a gentleman's agreement that nothing personally critical could be written about Rupert or his family, and the understanding was that it was reciprocal."