BLAKEAPALOOZA EAST COAST STYLE

Last night as I was getting dressed to attend the memorial Blake Snyder’s Georgetown friends arranged at The Harvard Club, I felt, well, to put it in STC terms like I was living a cross between THE BIG CHILL and GROUND HOG’S DAY.

One again, into a black dress, paint on the smile, practice some jokes, count the BLAKAPALOOZA t-shirts and galvanize myself to make it through another night of honoring his passing.

He would be so amazed if he knew how many people have memorialized him in different ways.  From the WGA Theatre to the East Room of the Harvard Club and Blake didn’t even go to Harvard.  He would say, “all this for me?”

And as someone said last night, he would have loved to have been there though might not have shown up, very Blake, very unpredictable and shy in his own unique way.

So last night was not full of former writing partners, students, followers or those that helped run what was turning into his very complicated STC life of seminars and appearances.

Last night was a band of now grown-ups who when most of them last saw Blake they were all college students. Though Blake had the same silly, satirical creativity, the same intensity mixed with his own brand of flakiness and  all the girls remember if not being in love with him, then having crushes on him. For me one of the funniest parts of the evening was when Lucy Lewis read a poem and told how the poetry teacher had told her that if he got one more poem written by a girl about her enchantment with Blake he would give it an F.

What was I doing there I suppose is the question?  I didn’t go to Georgetown and up until Blake died I had never heard of one of these people.

But in the last four months through emails and that great matchmaker Facebook I have connected with many of the members of his class and they so kindly included me in their private event.  I thank all of you, truly. It was an honor to be there.

Susanne Shoemaker organized the dinner, and her husband arranged for it to be at the Harvard Club, which gave it that East Coast intellectual, gravitas as well as preppiness that was a part of Blake’s persona at one time.

I think he dropped it years into his Hollywood life, but in his Holden Caulfield days it was a big deal to him.  I think the fact people gathered; dined and toasted him in the crimson sanctuary would have pleased him to no end. It was one more of the many facets of Blake Snyder that got to shine last evening.

I met Anthony Mason and Pace Cooke Emmons at The Algonquin for a drink first. Blake would have loved that as well; the stomping ground of Robert Benchley, Dorothy Parker, and George S. Kaufman – the funny, irreverent, sophisticated humor that Blake also embodied. It was the perfect place to begin his New York evening.

It was there at our own round table where we came up with the questions for the WHO KNOWS BLAKE THE BEST GAME.  En route I realized that I was running low on Blakeapalooza T-shirts and would not have enough to give all the attendees.  So Anthony, Pace and I came up with a round of questions that ranged from the name of his childhood dog, Pickles; to his junior high-school crush – Ginger Freeman; to the oddest job he ever had Night Watchman. What was really impressive was the speed and accuracy of the answers. I was blown away that Kathleen Brown knew Pickles. I thought I was the only one who knew his dog was called Pickles. But Blake and Kathleen were very close back then.

There was levity last night that was missing from LA.  And while everyone got up and shared stories and memories they were of a young man, a man starting out, still at that stage where one hasn’t been kicked in the teeth by disappointments, failed relationships, death and many jobs not going according to plan; things we have all experienced in one form or another by the time we reach the age of fifty.

Many of the LA group knew Blake at a later phase in his life.  Last night people said good-bye to the innocent Blake; the Blake just out of the nest, Blake flapping his wings, a very pretty boy. I forget how good-looking he was back then. He was always dashing and his appeal to women never waned but back in his late teens and early twenties he had a Gatsbeesque quality. He was all blonde and blazered and planning his great American Novel.

And if I may interject my own assessment, I think last night many were saying good-bye that part of themselves.  More than one person stated that while they were fond of Blake they were slightly perplexed why this person, many had not even had contact with in three decades – how this death had hit them so hard. They traveled from all over the country to be there.

Innocence dies along the way the older we get, hopefully it’s in increments that we can handle and it doesn’t do too much damage.  We have all had our share of problems and disappointments,  we are all half a century old.  But now comes the time when we start to lose each other and the innocence Blake continued to embody throughout his life, an innocence that had many attributes, enthusiasm, humor, eternal optimism also  had it’s downsides, an inability to commit to certain adult things, a flakiness at times, the fact he never settled down and had a family of his own, this part of Blake was the youngster in all of us, and I think in his passing many people were compelled to say good-bye to that side of themselves too.

First deaths in groups often hit the hardest and especially those who are as magical as Blake, what happens when the magic goes? How will we continue to believe in it’s existence if it’s representative leaves us?

We all know Blake did not write the great American novel, but the books he did ultimately write truly embodied the best of Blake – his willingness and eagerness to share his vast knowledge and expertise, his biting wit, his humanity and ability to make everyone he came in contact with feel like they were the most important person in the room.  He was able to harness all of that and get it on paper and he will now live on in so many people’s lives, people who never had the pleasure of encountering him in his life. The person he was not always able to present in person he was able to capture in words and by doing so gave us a big part of who he really was.

Pace put together a slide show from photos she had gathered and they showed the video that was made for the WGA event. I still can’t watch it without crying but I held it together better last night. And blessedly, many people got up to speak before I had to.

Anthony Mason was MC of and kept the evening going. He was he first to speak I think, I’m going to get lots of this wrong, as always the emotion and the wine cloud my memory of these nights. Blake and Anthony shared an apartment together during a difficult time in both their lives, if not difficult then a time when they were both required to do some real growing up.  And I think this cemented a friendship even if they lost touch over the years.

Pace spoke of Blake’s openhanded generosity when she was a newcomer to the school. How he had told her the right way to give a party, aside from the guests and the booze, light it with TV’s – so very Blake…

Robert Devaney talked about their times working on THE VOICE the Georgetown paper  most of them seemed to be involved with. Robert had admonished Blake into finishing a story and Blake remembered this decades later when they met up for lunch. Perhaps Robert is responsible for Blake making all the deadlines he faced in the years to come.

Ted Schofner wrote a lovely tribute to college friend, poetic and lyrical.

So many spoke and clearly three decades later his mark his still very strong in each of these people’s minds and hearts.

So this was the Blake who was said good-bye to last night.

Young, handsome, like all people in their early twenties, totally sure of where they are going and clueless at the same time.

A different Blake in many ways than was memorialized in Los Angeles, as this Blake was almost frozen in time, we all said good-bye to the youthful Blake last night as well as the man.

It was as lovely and lively an evening could be given the theme.

I didn’t come home the basket case I did in LA, partially because I was home and had my husband with me. And I suppose the further down the road you get the easier it becomes though it didn’t feel that way when I awoke this morning.

But  I dreamt about Blake last night.

We were at the Harvard Club only it was pale blue and all of us, the guests last night and others from all over were standing at the top of the stairs.  Blake was slowly climbing the stairs and he hadn’t reached the top when he asked me what we were all doing there and I said we are celebrating your birthday, he said but today is October first and my birthday isn’t until the third. I then told him he wouldn’t live to make it to his birthday and he seemed to understand. I told him I didn’t know how I would get through the rest of my life without him there, he told me I would and then he vanished.

Once again, farewell dear one – I wish you only knew how many people loved you and how deep an imprint your life has left on us all.

Tracers

Comments:

1. HB says
   

   Thank you, Tracey. Thank you.

   November 22nd, 2009 at 6:16 pm
2. Heather says
   

   I hadn’t read this when you first wrote it. Thank you. I need a kleenex, but I’m smiling.

   May 11th, 2010 at 7:02 pm

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