After reading the first draft of this book, my father wrote me an email in which he said: “I had a passing and then a returning thought that it’s the best book I ever read.” I was relieved, grateful, and surprised.
Then again, the past two years have been nothing if not surprising. Would the rough parts have been tolerable without my husband, Neal; son, Oliver; and stepson, Andrew Blake? I doubt it. They are three terrific human beings, and as of this year they are all much taller than me.
My agent, Daniel Greenberg, fellow East Village kid, is fiercely protective, wryly funny, and a next-level problem solver. I am so lucky to have him and his colleague Tim Wojcik in my corner.
Audible, which also published the audiobook of my last book, Why We Can’t Sleep, called dibs early on the audio of this project and I’m so glad. Jessica Almond Galland is a brilliant editor and a lovely person, and I am grateful for the chance to work with her again. Thanks also to the whole team at Audible, especially Esther Bochner, David Blum, Kristin Lang, and Don Katz. I’m so grateful, too, that they sent the brilliant lawyer John Pelosi and the intrepid Girl Friday Productions fact-checkers my way.
That Grove Press, which published Frank O’Hara’s Meditations in an Emergency, wanted to work together again so soon after my last book was a godsend. The publisher’s history of bravery and creativity is embodied today by my tenacious young editor, Katie Raissian. Thanks for the care and attention shown by everyone in that house, from meticulous copyeditor Paula Cooper Hughes to the designers to the sales reps to Judy Hottensen, Deb Seager, Amy Hundley, Peter Blackstock, Julia Berner-Tobin, Morgan Entrekin, Elisabeth Schmitz, Andrew Unger, Becca Fox, Sal Destro, Alicia Burns, and Justina Batchelor. They also throw great parties.
Several wise people gave early versions of this book their thoughtful attention: Neal Medlyn (an excellent editor in addition to being a first-rate husband), Susannah Cahalan, Carlene Bauer, Jason Zinoman, Tara McKelvey, Abbott Kahler, Maureen Callahan, my aunt Ann Morris, and Asia Wong (thirty-eight years into this friendship, I still can’t imagine ever being bored in your presence). Special thanks to Kathleen Hanna for taking my author photo and serving as my book-tour entourage of one.
Among the great joys in my life: letters from my two O’Haraesque pen pals; readings with my journalism gang Sob Sisters; games with my low-stakes Power Broker poker club (Miner’s Headlamp 4EVR); screenwriting with Busy Philipps; Easter with my godchildren; hermeneutics with my favorite Sanskritists, Jo Brill and Deven Patel; pandemic grocery packing at the Union Pool food bank; mini-golf with Murray Hill; trivia nights with Nola Macek; coffee with Lili Taylor; Don Waring’s sermons at Grace Church; Invisible Institute meetings; martinis with Tim Gunn; and conversations with my miraculous shrink, Amy Jordan Jones.
While writing this book, I asked a lot of smart people dumb questions. For their stories, expertise, and generosity of spirit, I’d like to thank Josh Schneiderman, Katie Schneeman, Ron Padgett, Karen Koch, Amei Wallach, Connie Lewallen, Maxine Groffsky, Keith McDermott, and Vincent Katz.
I don’t usually change names in nonfiction, but Spencer was an innocent civilian caught in family crossfire, so in his case I have. Yet again, he is “kind of extra special.”
For photo permissions, thank you to the great James Hamilton for the portraits of my father and me; and to Renate Ponsold (and Michael Hecht), for letting us use her iconic image of Frank O’Hara with his typewriter.
For their extreme goodness, I owe a debt to the friends and neighbors who helped my parents during and after the fire, including Ulli Barta, George Trakas, Linda Dunne, Scott Hill, Beverly Archer, Rita Devine, and EV Grieve (who issued an all-points bulletin to help find their lost cat)—and to those who helped save their stuff, especially Guy Richards Smit, Atelier 4, Lisa Rosen, Paper Conservation Studio, and Jane Curley. Thanks also to Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center’s Kent Sepkowitz, Gregory Riely, and Aimee-Lauren Rosales.
Before the coronavirus closed it, the Allen Room of the New York Public Library was my cave of choice. Thank you, Melanie Locay, for the opportunity to work in the classiest writing room in the world. And a special shoutout to librarians everywhere for taking such good care of me and my books. In the same spirit: a warm hello to the independent bookstore people who have sold my books and hosted my events over the years. I don’t write just so I’ll have an excuse to hang out with you, but maybe a little.
My mother’s support of this project has been a great gift. Most of all, of course, thanks to my father. When I said I was afraid of what he’d think of what I’d written, he told me: “I hope I never confuse truth with a back rub.” I like to think that for him and for me this book wound up, in some strange way, being both.