Personal History

At the left of my chair, books on Frank O'Hara and Andy Warhol, pole stars of the moment of disintegration, which I took to be personal transformation at the time (on my right, Montaigne). Both were shining in that glittering climactic year, 1964, the time of the Tavel/Warhol book I am working on (typing). Frank was warm, Andy chill. Frank was drinking too much. Andy was on speed (obatrol). They were suns, each in a swarm of planets; Frank's were nourished, Andy's burnt up. Two years later Frank was dead (July 25). I produced a brilliant season at Sundance, then chased the Living Theatre to Berlin, writing Theatre Trip, won a Brandeis Award, directed Soren Agenoux's Christmas Carol at the Caffè Cino (on speed). Frank's death was the turning point, two years ahead of the general culture's (MLK, RFK assassinations). Andy won.