Alex H-J, 1974-2008

Life works in funny ways. Today I was riding the New York City subway, thinking about a potential upcoming trip to Beirut. I thought that I needed to call my friend Alex tonight, the Lebanon expert, for advice on the best places to visit there. Minutes later, I got off the subway and had a voicemail waiting for me from our friend Lucas. I sensed a weird tone in his voice and called him back right away. Lucas told me Alex's body was just found dead in his apartment. It's hard to believe...

I met Alex half a decade ago and he kept me in stitches ever since (his obsession with my friend Mike, a complete opposite, was among the more humorous aspects of our friendship). He was full of contradictions (how many drunk, oversexed theology students could there be?) and full of endless surprises. He was a complete intellectual, a complete dandy, and one of the best listeners ever. And no one in Boston ever had bigger hair than he did (it was quite toned down in this shot from last month). More than a few bottles of red wine were downed on my roof deck, musing over eastern religions, bad clothes, sexual politics, our shared experiences at Boston University, and the lastest South End gossip (he had me rolling on the floor when he discussed the merits of colonic irrigation). Alex brought many people into my life (oh the stories we could tell!), and expanded all our lives. For that he will be missed.

Posted by Sebastian / May 6, 2008 /
 

Brooke Astor is dead at 105

There's no doubt that Brooke Astor, whose last years were marred by stunning accusations of elder abuse and punctuated by the transfer of guardianship to JP Morgan Chase and Annette de la Renta, was one of the most witty souls that ever graced the streets of New York. Her lengthy obituary is an interesting read. It notes that "Although aristocratic in upbringing, style and social milieu, she never sought to be the arbiter of society that the Astor name might have entitled her to be. She never wanted to rule over a world that she was among the first to recognize was no more."

It continued "Mrs. Astor was a widow for 48 years. Though she had a number of suitors, she did not want to marry again. 'I just don’t want anyone tugging at my sleeve at 10 o’clock telling me it’s time to go home,' she once told her friend Marietta Tree. 'I want to go at my own speed, and it’s a lot faster than theirs.'"

The Washington Post obit mentioned, "In the early 1990s, she helped start a furniture bank to give chairs, tables and other goods to thousands of formerly homeless families. 'How can you build a new life if you have nothing to sit on?' she said."

"Power, for me, is the ability to do good things for others," she once told Harper's Bazaar magazine. "I have the means to do it, thanks to Vincent's money, and the act of giving makes me powerful inside. I would tell anyone, if you have enough money for three meals a day and you're not too busy, you ought to do something for others."

Posted by Sebastian / August 13, 2006 /
 

Bluma Appel, founder of CANFAR, is dead at 87

Bluma Appel, the fabulous hat-wearing founder of the Canadian Foundation for AIDS Research, the northern equivalent of amFAR, died yesterday in Toronto. The Star says she was 87 while the Globe said she was 86! "She was somebody who was very intolerant of complacency," the director of the Royal Ontario Museum, one of the beneficiaries of her largesse, noted. "She was famous for just tracking everybody down she thought could help her causes and just relentlessly coming over and insisting they become involved."

Posted by Sebastian / July 16, 2007 /

Barbara Gittings, dead at 75

I've been meaning to write about the Feb. 18 death of seminal gay rights activist Barbara Gittings since that day, but I'm a little slow...

For those of you who don't know about Barbara, Mark Segal, publish of the Philadelphia Gay News told Bloomberg, "Gay people didn't have a face until Barbara started demonstrating in 1965. Up until that point, no gay face had been seen in the newspaper, on television or in the movies."

I met Barbara in 2003 during a small dinner party near Rochester, where Barbara was the guest of honor prior to a speaking engagement at my university. I sat a seat away from her, and remember listening with jaundiced eyes at her stories. She had the most vivid reminiscences about playing a hand in just about every important gay rights event in our history. It's no surprise they called her the Rosa Parks of the gay rights movement. At once, she had the most domineering presence of any old lady I'd ever met, and she also seemed among the sweetest.

Gay Rights Pioneer, Barbara Gittings, at 75 (Washington Post)

Posted by Sebastian / March 12, 2007 /
 

'The Rock without the rock'

That's how one person this morning described the plight of North Haven Island, now having gone a month without its famed Mother Coo.

Today was the memorial service for Coo, the colorful and humourous cook, socialite, mother, friend, and Republican party insider who died last month, shown here in a photo modeling for the 'Corice' line of home goods from Angela Adams.

Coo and I were neighbours for every summer of my life so today's service was especially poignant. It's still hard to believe she's gone, but our lives are richer for having known her and having endured her quick-witted, long-winded stories, and her gregarious company. In the end, I suppose, the best tribute one can hope for is a lot of laughter, and we sure had that today.

Besides her charm, Corice will be remembered fondly for her effortless style. Her Barry Goldwater glasses were even mentioned in today's sermon. As the designer Angela Adams said of Coo on her web site, "Corice has always been a snazzy dresser. I especially admire her red ponchos. Ever since I was a little girl, I'd see Corice coming up the road with her big red poncho waving in the wind. I was always pleased to notice her matching red lipstick and cat-eye glasses."

Posted by Sebastian / July 30, 2005 /

Lives Lived

Yesterday the world lost one of funniest, kindest, and most spirited purveyors of style and wisdom. Corice G. Hurd, better known as "Mother Coo," to her adoring fans in North Haven, Maine, died at a ripe old age that would probably shock anyone who had ever been in her sharp-as-a-tack company these last few years.

She is perhaps best known for her fashion sense, which was at once peculiar, stunning, and effortless. I'm not sure she ever purchased a single article of clothing after the fall of Nixon, but as we joked one summer, it didn't matter since style is timeless and trends fleeting. The well-worn clothes she bought in the 60s had come full circle and always looked great with her signature big Gucci sunglasses.
 
A fantastic cook, Coo endowed me with numerous culinary skills and bestowed upon me "Cooking for Dummies," when I moved away to college. "Anyone who can read can cook," she always said. She was also a well-graced socialite and at an early age nicknamed me the "butler" because of my domestic abilities. Coo was just, "dahling," to me.
 
She was a rabid Republican, always accenting her flamboyant outfits with a jeweled GOP elephant brooch. (In the photo here, taken on July 4th, 2000, she is wearing it...and look at that patriotic outfit!). Despite our obvious political differences, we always had energetic debates on the state of affairs in Washington. If there was a book written on politics, she had read it and could quote it. Same goes for the Wall Street Journal op-ed pages going back decades. When our neighbour Pete du Pont ran for president in 1988, she marched right up to him and declared she was deserving of a spot on his cabinet.

In 2000, soon after Hillary Clinton after her candidacy for the U.S. Senate, I attended a speech on my college campus in New York and afterward sent Coo various pieces of Hillary kitsch. I packed it all up in a nice, neat package and sent it to her place on Raspberry Patch Lane. One week later, the package had been returned to me. No note, just a "Return to Sender" stamp. It was classic Coo...

Posted by Sebastian / June 28, 2005 /

Doc Walker is Dead

Gail Walker, a beloved professor at Alfred University who was an expert on death and dying and who herself faced a battle with ovarian cancer in recent years died this morning at age 53. Those of us who knew and loved Doc Walker are staggered by her death.

In 2001, she wrote a farewell essay to the Alfred community in the student newspaper after doctors gave her only a few months to live. Though she had taught one of the university's most popular classes, "Death and Dying," for years -- and had won 10 outstanding faculty awards, more than any other professor -- and was an expert on grieving, her illness was new territory:

"Many people have asked whether being an 'expert' in the field of death and dying has made this process any easier for me," Walker wrote. "I have had to tell them that the roadmap is no substitute for the journey. Although much of what has been happening is familiar from my experiences gained from accompanying others in their time of tribulation, there is a level of poignancy that is distinctly personal."

As she said goodbye that first time, to the small community that had embraced her tenacious spirit, her unparalleled joy for life, and her unselfish and giving spirit, Doc Walker wrote: "I have learned that every moment is precious and fleeting, that every person is unique and irreplaceable. I thank you all for your prayers and kind thoughts, and for the love we have so freely shared. I thank the Creator of All Life for allowing me more time. May the Great Spirit continue to bless us and keep us, in all of the ways in all of our days."  

Just last week, as I was laying outside on a quiet and still Boston evening, looking up at the stars, I got to thinking about Doc Walker. I told myself I needed to email her the next day and see how she was doing because it had been too long. There were some things I wanted to tell her, because she had always been the perfect person with whom to share stuff -- anything, really. No judgments, just that smile and that unforgettable laugh. But I never sent that last note and now today, she is gone forever.    

 • Read Doc Walker's essay, "Sunset and moonrise: Reflections on living with terminal illness."

 • Read her obituary from Alfred University.

Posted by Sebastian / June 8, 2005 /

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