Dylan Mitchell
Email Dylan Mitchell: nobody60651@lycos.com
This image was supplied by Dylan and re-produced here by his kind permission.
"I think your site is a wonderful tribute to Quentin Crisp, and I wanted to contribute my own fond memories of knowing this great man."
This image was supplied by Dylan and re-produced here by his kind permission.
"I think your site is a wonderful tribute to Quentin Crisp, and I wanted to contribute my own fond memories of knowing this great man."
BEING AN ICON IS A LONELY THING
By Dylan Mitchell
It seems hard to believe it's already been eight years since Quentin Crisp's death. Oh, how I miss those wise and witty late-night phone chats with him. In addition to the brief (but always brilliant) notes he used to send to me. I still have six or seven of them. And one very long one (for him). Plus the signed paperback copy of The Naked Civil Servant: He autographed it for me when he came to the Pacific Northwest (in 1997).
I wrote an essay about finally seeing his wonderful show. All by himself on the stage. And how I got to meet him during the intermission. My essay is now a part of the Quentin Crisp Archives: a wonderful site with interviews, photographs, remembrances, and copies of original letters and even some of Mr. Crisp's very fine line drawings. The site was put together by Phillip Ward. And what a splendid work in progress it is.
Anyway, my essay is in the Memories section, if you would like to take a peek. However, the essay was written in 2004 (published in 2005), back in the day when I was still called: Frank (my boring given name at birth--Dylan is my middle name). So it can all get to be a little confusing. The quickest way to find the essay--is to go to: www.crisperanto.org. Then simply click on the Memories section.
My essay's title is: Suffering a Fool Gladly. Read the essay, and all will be revealed. Well, not everything. Because I primarily wrote about our late-night phone chats.
There's a bit more to the story. I actually met Mr. Crisp twice. In 1995, he appeared at a Gay and Lesbian library in Chicago (the Windy City has such things). I don't recall the name of the library (this was twelve years ago!), and I moved to the Pacific Northwest in 1997. However, I'll never forget meeting him for the first time. He was wearing a white suit, and matching fedora. A silk scarf graced his neck, and even though there was much make-up on his face, he did not seem especially effeminate to me. It was during the summer, and Chicago can get very hot. So he was a bit tardy--and in an exhausted state. Nevertheless, everyone applauded when he made his grand entrance. He suddenly smiled and nodded at all of us. Then he immediately approached the buffet table, and fixed himself a plate of decidedly skimpy portions. And despite the heat, he opted to drink hot coffee.
Everyone pretended not to be watching him, but they were only pretending. As he slowly made his way over to the long book signing table (with his coffee cup in one hand, and the meager plate in the other), he left a trail of coffee along the way. His cup was too full. I was very touched by this. It somehow made him seem less the gay icon--and more the frail human being. Then after he sat down alone at the table, he nibbled on his food, and took a sip of coffee. People soon began to approach him with books to be signed. Plus for five dollars, one could own a signed photograph of him--standing in front of his rooming house on the Lower East Side: After he left England and moved to New York, he lived in the same famously dusty room for almost two decades. A small room without a view.
I remember wondering about the handsome man that brought a tall stack of books for Mr. Crisp to sign. He somehow looked familiar to me. I later learned he was Robert Rodi--author of several very humorous gay novels. His very good essay about Mr. Crisp is included in the Memories section of The Quentin Crisp Archives. After there were no more books for Mr. Crisp to sign, something very odd happened: everyone just left him alone at the table. I think it was at that moment that I discovered being an icon is a lonely thing.
After ten very awkward minutes had passed, I decided to keep him company. He just looked so vulnerable and alone. The moment I stood before him, he started to recite many of the very witty and true lines from his books. I asked him a polite question or two, but his answers were always his own famous quotes. I waited for somebody else to approach the table, but nobody did. So I told Mr. Crisp how much I enjoyed both him and his work, then I said a sad goodbye. I never expected to meet him again. But how wrong I was. And you can read all about it in my first (2005) published essay.
Copyright 2008 by Dylan Mitchell
Dylan Mitchell was born and raised in Chicago, and currently lives in Portland, Oregon. He is widely published as a poet; his first book of poems, FORGERY, was published in 2000. His blog, Dylan Mitchell: Outside of Society, can be found at waltsworld.journalspace.com
It seems hard to believe it's already been eight years since Quentin Crisp's death. Oh, how I miss those wise and witty late-night phone chats with him. In addition to the brief (but always brilliant) notes he used to send to me. I still have six or seven of them. And one very long one (for him). Plus the signed paperback copy of The Naked Civil Servant: He autographed it for me when he came to the Pacific Northwest (in 1997).
I wrote an essay about finally seeing his wonderful show. All by himself on the stage. And how I got to meet him during the intermission. My essay is now a part of the Quentin Crisp Archives: a wonderful site with interviews, photographs, remembrances, and copies of original letters and even some of Mr. Crisp's very fine line drawings. The site was put together by Phillip Ward. And what a splendid work in progress it is.
Anyway, my essay is in the Memories section, if you would like to take a peek. However, the essay was written in 2004 (published in 2005), back in the day when I was still called: Frank (my boring given name at birth--Dylan is my middle name). So it can all get to be a little confusing. The quickest way to find the essay--is to go to: www.crisperanto.org. Then simply click on the Memories section.
My essay's title is: Suffering a Fool Gladly. Read the essay, and all will be revealed. Well, not everything. Because I primarily wrote about our late-night phone chats.
There's a bit more to the story. I actually met Mr. Crisp twice. In 1995, he appeared at a Gay and Lesbian library in Chicago (the Windy City has such things). I don't recall the name of the library (this was twelve years ago!), and I moved to the Pacific Northwest in 1997. However, I'll never forget meeting him for the first time. He was wearing a white suit, and matching fedora. A silk scarf graced his neck, and even though there was much make-up on his face, he did not seem especially effeminate to me. It was during the summer, and Chicago can get very hot. So he was a bit tardy--and in an exhausted state. Nevertheless, everyone applauded when he made his grand entrance. He suddenly smiled and nodded at all of us. Then he immediately approached the buffet table, and fixed himself a plate of decidedly skimpy portions. And despite the heat, he opted to drink hot coffee.
Everyone pretended not to be watching him, but they were only pretending. As he slowly made his way over to the long book signing table (with his coffee cup in one hand, and the meager plate in the other), he left a trail of coffee along the way. His cup was too full. I was very touched by this. It somehow made him seem less the gay icon--and more the frail human being. Then after he sat down alone at the table, he nibbled on his food, and took a sip of coffee. People soon began to approach him with books to be signed. Plus for five dollars, one could own a signed photograph of him--standing in front of his rooming house on the Lower East Side: After he left England and moved to New York, he lived in the same famously dusty room for almost two decades. A small room without a view.
I remember wondering about the handsome man that brought a tall stack of books for Mr. Crisp to sign. He somehow looked familiar to me. I later learned he was Robert Rodi--author of several very humorous gay novels. His very good essay about Mr. Crisp is included in the Memories section of The Quentin Crisp Archives. After there were no more books for Mr. Crisp to sign, something very odd happened: everyone just left him alone at the table. I think it was at that moment that I discovered being an icon is a lonely thing.
After ten very awkward minutes had passed, I decided to keep him company. He just looked so vulnerable and alone. The moment I stood before him, he started to recite many of the very witty and true lines from his books. I asked him a polite question or two, but his answers were always his own famous quotes. I waited for somebody else to approach the table, but nobody did. So I told Mr. Crisp how much I enjoyed both him and his work, then I said a sad goodbye. I never expected to meet him again. But how wrong I was. And you can read all about it in my first (2005) published essay.
Copyright 2008 by Dylan Mitchell
Dylan Mitchell was born and raised in Chicago, and currently lives in Portland, Oregon. He is widely published as a poet; his first book of poems, FORGERY, was published in 2000. His blog, Dylan Mitchell: Outside of Society, can be found at waltsworld.journalspace.com