Wit and Wisdom
by Beth Broderick
I said goodbye to a dear old pal on Sunday. Harvey “The DON” Siegel was one of the first people to truly befriend me when I was young and stupid and on my own in New York City. My first year there I got caught up in a crowd that lived hard and long into the night, courtesy of cocaine and a few other substances that were favored at the time. I loved the drug, a little too much, to tell the truth, but thankfully I hated the life. I did not want to stay up until dawn with a host of folks who had never read Truman Capote. People who had never wept into the pages of a Hemingway novel, or at the very least, laughed their heads off at P.G. Wodehouse and his brilliant Jeeves.
I just had to get away from the druggie world, they were not my tribe. I moved downtown from the Upper West Side and made sure that every new friend understood there was to be no sharing of illegal substances. That is when I met Harvey, who never did drugs, so did not need to be told, though I did anyway.
“If you offer me drugs, we cannot be friends. I mean, thanks and all, but no, that is a line we cannot cross.” I was serious about it and all but one or two of the new people I met respected my wishes. I was no saint. I still ran wild and drank cocktails (often with “The DON” until closing time), but at least we talked about theater and music and the arts. It was an upgrade in every way.
Harvey and I were both hired as staff for the opening of a new restaurant in Midtown, the heart of the theater district. That was where I longed to be, and working as a waitress at J.R. at least put me in the vicinity. I was twenty years old and had been on my own since I was sixteen, so I put on a semi-good show, but was in many respects still a kid. The chef was Barry, the original “The Bear”, and he would become another dear buddy. He and Harv went back a ways and shared an ironic sense of humor and a love of good whiskey. They were street-smart city guys who did a poor job of hiding their hearts of gold.
I was a terror. I challenged customers to push-up contests, used a railing near the kitchen as a ballet barre and was, in short, wildly inappropriate. I was also whip fast, could memorize five tables’ worth of orders without trying, and was a hard worker. Harv and Bear interceded on my behalf many times when the owners caught the drift of my shenanigans and were thinking maybe I was not right for their store. They also tried to rein me in, and though I was fired eventually for talking back to a customer (for which I was not sorry), they did help shape me into an adult-ish human.
Harvey was a lot of things. An actor (a good one), a restaurant guy, a doo-wop singer from the Bronx, and a veteran. He had served, had been a medic in Vietnam, and though it haunted him, he could not be persuaded to talk about it. I saw him in a play once where he took on the role of a medic in wartime, and it took my breath away. He gave a nuanced, lived-in, heartbreaking performance. He was a brave guy.
When I first knew him, he was a bon vivant, a man about town. He seemed to know everyone, and where the ladies were concerned, many of them intimately. He was also quite scrappy and resourceful, at one point living in a windowless room on 69th Street which boasted a shared toilet and shower down the hall. He called it his “artist’s garret” and found romance in the notion. Harv was a salesman and lured many a fine woman up to his lair. He was a dynamo; he could sell ice to Eskimos, as we said back then.
Harvey knew folks from every sphere of city life; could wrangle his way into any Broadway show or live concert. Half of the cabbies drove him for free. He knew how to live large on very little. We were all essentially broke, dreaming of a better life and scrounging our way around a city we loved but could not afford to live in. Looking back, I really do not know how I survived, even thrived with so little, but Harvey was a great spirit guide through those lean times.
Our paths would diverge. Harvey fell in love with a woman named Lorraine and built a beautiful family. He applied himself to the real estate trade and became a good provider and a great dad. It was his kids who gave him the moniker of “The DON.” He was gruff, but playful as the head of household in their “Kool-Aid” home. All of the neighbor kids knew and respected him. He loved his children, loved being a dad. It was hands down the favorite role he ever played; beating out any job he had ever had.
I gave up the acting life for several years and dedicated myself to founding and running MOMENTUM, one of the first programs for persons with AIDS in America. Some of my friends wanted nothing to do with me as a result. That was a period in our history as a nation when discrimination against gay folks was the norm. AIDS was a terrifying, deadly disease, which came with an average life expectancy rate of six months. People were afraid and folks were never at their best when they are scared.
It was a desperate time for those living with the disease. In the early 80’s we did not even have a name for the illness nor an understanding of its origins. “Gay Men’s Cancer” was the best description available, though it was never correct. AIDS was never just a “gay” disease. Those of us on the ground in the early days saw plenty of families coping with the illness. That continues to be true to this day, as there are still quite a number of new infections in the heterosexual population.
“The DON” and “The Bear” pulled strings all over town to help me get donations. Barry even came and cooked on-site at our weekly events. We provided a sit-down dinner and free grocery and clothing stores. The young men and women who came through our doors were trying to get by, having lost their jobs the minute they showed signs of the disease. They had no money, and many had no family support. They needed the basics like food and clothing, but they also desperately needed community, and in those early ugly days, we were the only place they could turn to.
I met two other lifelong friends at that time. Eric (yes, the same Eric who edits this column) and Larry were fellow volunteers and offered me support at every turn. I learned how to produce benefit concerts with them by my side and my old pals Harv and Barry were also there, helping to cadge champagne from Elaine of the famous Elaine’s, finding volunteers for every function, offering themselves in whatever capacity was needed. I continued to live on nothing, really, barely able to pay the rent. I ate canned goods from the same free grocery store as our clients and though I had financial woes, I somehow never thought twice about it. I just didn’t have time.
The day before my flight to New York to speak at Harvey’s memorial, I got a message from the airline (DELTA always, trust me on that) asking me to choose my entrée. As a Premium Select passenger, I would be privileged with meal service. After checking in the following day, which was a breeze, since I could afford the designation of CLEAR and have been approved for Global Entry, I headed for the DELTA lounge to grab a cup of tea and a few nibbles before heading to my flight.
BLESSED BEYOND MEASURE.
My life is different now. I am writing at a desk in my friend Judy’s apartment in Manhattan near the legendary Lincoln Center. There is a doorman, something I could never even dreamed of having when I lived here. There is also a gym and a swimming pool located near the lobby. My experience of New York City these days is quite comfortable compared to my early years. There is a marked contrast in how the place feels to me. I can afford a taxi now, though I still use transit whenever possible. My younger self walked, because half of the time I could not afford train or bus fare.
I remember looking into the windows of the wealthy apartments near my scrappy, crappy one, taking in the chandelier elegance of them with awe and a touch of envy. I never reached the heights of success that a person needs to live here these days. To be wealthy enough in New York City is to be very wealthy indeed. I will never be that. I am grateful to be comfortable, for now, at least. Nothing is guaranteed in this life of ours, and as the markets roil under America’s newly elected regime, many of us are all too aware that our meager fortunes could fall.
I am blessed to have the love and support of great friends and family, and that is a true comfort as we face an uncertain future. I can also look to the past, to the steadfast Harvey who, as time went by, never missed a column, never failed to watch my shows, always, always had my back. A tough guy, he was “The DON” on the outside, but he was ever generous and gentle to those he loved, and I am humbled and grateful to have been among them. We saw a lot of life together, and he taught me that there are many ways to count a person successful, and almost none of them have to do with money. That never equaled value to Harv. “The DON” knew his worth and helped to convince me of mine. He was something. Truly.
Goodnight, dear pal, and thank you.
On we go …
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