What Became of Baby New Year

They were born into the slender spotlight once cast on the first baby to arrive after the clock ticked past midnight on New Year's Day.

They were the innocent, hopeful face of a new year, unsullied by the imperfections of the year just ended. As the world recovered from the revelry of the night before, their arrival was played up on the pages of the newspaper.

Decades later, many of them cherish the clipping as the most public moment in their lifetimes -- until now, when several of those New Year's babies were invited to reflect on their paths so far.

One still draws comfort from the wonderful memory of the row home off Georgia Avenue where she spent her childhood six decades ago.

A "workaholic" has achieved great professional success, and paid a predictable price in his tumultuous personal life.

Another lived her life's dream for a time, only to have it crash to earth in divorce.

As a teenager, one woman explored the labyrinth of life's possibilities, only to end up just down the hall from where her voyage began.

A Bicentennial baby narrowly escaped a name befitting "a porn star" and went on to become a California lawyer.

A man who made broadcast news at birth now is broadcasting live on New York City airwaves everyday.

And a Baby Boomer facing his own mortality says he's lived the life of a self-absorbed fool.

In the heyday of what the Post called "The Stork Derby," nurses would rush to phone the newspaper in the wee hours of Jan. 1, and soon flashbulbs would pop in maternity wards. Some years the photos -- smiling moms with their new infants -- would fill a full page. And even before segregation ended those faces included people of color.

They are the babies of a bygone era, the tradition overtaken by the times. Though the reports continued through the 1990s and into the new century, hospitals now are bound by federal regulations that bar release of such information without the written consent of the mother.