That Thing

As the lights dimmed in that packed theater at Hofstra University sometime during our high school year in 1988, we awaited jokingly in our seats to witness our St. Andrews Episcopal School's version of a scene from William Shakespeare's play Hamlet. The scene began rather poorly. Apparently the liberties taken by the director, mixed with the poor performances of the actors, did not mix well with the audience nor with the material. There were, I believe, ten other schools in competition that day, all performing a scene from a Shakespeare play, and only a few minutes in and it was already becoming clear that it was 'not to be.' 

And then something happened. An actor walked on stage whose presence was felt immediately by both cast and audience members alike. The room suddenly lit up! 

Being sixteen years old at the time I could barely get through the Cliff Notes of a play much less sit through a bunch of Old English Modern English blah blah blah. But what I witnessed that day, as others did (I believe Yorke was sitting in front of me), was what James Joyce referred to as an "aesthetic arrest," when the innocent viewer is stopped dead in his tracks and has no choice but to stare in awe. And as he walked across that stage commanding the attention of every soul in that theater, not a noise could be heard other than his voice, and his voice alone, until the lights went down and a thunderous applause swept through the entire auditorium. 

Sam of course went on to win the award for Best Performance that day and he became the best friend I have ever had in my life. It's hard not to want to become friends with someone whom you immediately recognize genius in. How many times I had to get away from him because I couldn't breathe from laughing so hard. How many times did he "help" me write a paper because I was completely clueless. What a talent! What a great human being! At seventeen he had the maturity of a thirty-five year old, but a thirty-five year old thirty years ago, not a thirty-five year old today.  

Years later, knowing Sam was a trained Shakespearean actor, it was only natural that I asked him to don a silly wig and play the part of a flamboyantly gay florist in a movie I was making. Sam of course accepted and played the part without reservation and of course shined . Because that is Sam, that's how he was, that was his nature, he would do anything on a moment's notice if I asked him to. And I'm sure he was like that with everyone in his life. I know for certain he was. 

He was a true artist, he was a great friend, and was a brother to me, and being in his company was like being held in aesthetic arrest. "Or, as James Joyce formulates the same insight in his discussion (in A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man) of the moment of aesthetic arrest in the contemplation of an object: "You see that it is that thing which it is and no other thing...The mind in that mysterious instant Shelley likened to a fading coal.""

Definitely that thing and no other thing. 

Definitely.

Rest In Peace My Brother

Love Always