The Go-With-You-Anywhere, Good-To-Eat-Anytime Phone!

An Excerpt from Flux Zig-Zag, an art action event

Sing a Simple Song: Lee Hoiby 1926-2011

Late last month I was extremely saddened during one of many daily NY Times obituary check-ins to see a name I not only recognized but knew. Lee Hoiby, the composer and musician had died from metastatic melanoma. I knew Lee was not well. He had mysteriously materialized on Facebook recently. To my knowledge he had a largely inactive account there for years. I had tried to friend him some time back, but received no reply until last month. Not only was my request accepted, but he actually started to chat with me. As it turned out, Lee was not really Lee, but his long-time partner and collaborator Mark Shulgasser. He and Lee were down from upstate and staying with my last ex so that Lee could receive radiation in the Bronx.

It was Mark and his bookstore, Who Killed Kenny? in Callicoon, that allowed my path to cross with Lee's.

I was thrust into the environs of Sullivan County, New York in the Summer of 2006 when I rented a van and helped my to-be-ex move his instrument up to Jeffersonville for a fund-raising concert for a local Summer music festival. The site of the fund-raiser was at the home of a couple of teachers from the city. It was originally the farmhouse of the local Behr family, big area dairymen in their days. The house was situated on several acres which included many outbuildings and a large pond. The concert that evening took place in the barn. While the musicians rehearsed, I skinny-dipped in the pond. As I relaxed after my dip in the pastoral setting it conjured memories of summers spent in the Eastern Townships of Quebec, usually in the company of my friend Kathleen. I called her on my mobile to tell her where I was and that she must come down and enjoy this spot with me later that season. As my dutiful friend, Kathleen did show up later that summer so while to-be-ex rehearsed, we explored.

I had already discovered a few interesting shops in Callicoon so I knew I needed to bring Kathleen into this sleepy burg on the Delaware River. That day we stumbled into Mark's stop, an amusing mix of used books and music along with some interesting Modern furniture pieces. It's the kind of store that encourages browsing and Mark is the type of shopkeep who informs you he'll be out on the back porch smoking in case you need anything. Convivial and smart, we all spent the afternoon chatting about art, literature and music. Kathleen had been browsing through the boxes of CD when Mark ask if she was looking for something special. French horn music was her reply. Coincidentally, Mark's boyfriend had composed a piece for French horn. Did we know his work? I had a vague memory of seeing the name Hoiby amongst the stacks of scores at the Performing Arts Library at Lincoln Center but could not name a piece or hum a tune. Kathleen had no idea. Come back tomorrow, Mark suggested, and he would have some books for me and some music for Kathleen. Returning back to the house where we were staying, we relayed our experience to to-be-ex who went limp and apoplectic! LEE HOIBY!! Shivers ran down his spine. Kathleen and I went for a swim.

Coincidence followed coincidence after that meeting. To-be-ex didn't get to meet Mark until his engagement was done, but when I did finally bring him to the store Mark needed a ride home and guess who had a car. In the car was my CD copy of Ruth Draper's monologues which Mark discovered. Did I know that Lee had set The Italian Lesson to music? Turns out it's quite a popular one-act opera. Did I know he wrote a musical setting of a Julia Child cooking show that was composed for Jean Stapleton?

The property that Lee and Mark occupied was along a meandering country road north of Long Eddy nicknamed "Fairy Lane" for the inordinate amount of gay men who lived on this particular road. It contained a simple house the two had expanded and a studio where Lee worked and slept; but most of all it contained a waterfall! Far down from the house and secluded from the road I spent many happy hours there naked on a warm summer day and every Rosh Hashanna for three years I went there for ablution.

Lee was tall and thin with thinning white hair, a crooked smile and the large hands of concert pianist, shovel-like with long fingers. He bore all the traits of Lutherans from the upper mid-west: watery coffee and cheap liqueur. But he was also full of amazing tales: trips to Europe with Menotti, scoring for Barber, lunching with Leontyne Price in Greenwich Village. His warmth would sometimes flair up into a mean heat, not unexpected in great artists, but grudges were never held and the both of them were encouraging during our encounter to move to the area.

I also got to know Lee's music and learned to appreciate his expansive knowledge of Western Music as we know it, his love of melody and beauty. He had a homespun style on the grand scale. Singers adored him and he adored them.

I don't think Lee ever thought of me as a "music person". My skills were too plebeian. But one evening while I was "composer sitting" for Mark while he was away Lee came back from town to announce he had met an interesting young man in town, a performance artist, Preston Toscano. As a young man he had grown up in the area quite in the closet, so a lot of his performance work dealt with sexuality and acceptance. He was also a vegan! I was the chef, of course. Dinner rolled around, Preston brought things, I had experience with vegetarians so the evening went well except for Lee's obvious mooning over this moon-faced doughboy. After Preston insisting we all give impromptu performances, the two were a bit startled when I pulled out my accordion and sang "The Kitchen Song". Afterwards, Lee looked at me a bit dumbfounded and announced "You have a wonderful sense of time! REALLY!!".

Thank you Lee.