My Life with Spalding Gray
Sunday, October 5th, 2008

On stage that night, Spalding Gray donned his trademark flannel shirt and sipped calmly from a water glass as I’d seen him do in two feature films. But off stage he wore a thick Abercrombie & Fitch sweater that swaddled his personality the same way it did his body in those cold northeastern winters he loved so much.

We said little to one another. I was just another autograph hunter, second or third in a line that stretched about 30 feet and he’d barely spoken to the few fans that greeted him before me. He’d come out to visit with the audience after his performance but had done so unprepared. He had to borrow a pen to sign with and, though he was far from impolite, he seemed reserved and not quite ready to talk after such a demanding stage show.

I carried a few books along he’d authored and I asked him to sign them. He did – just inside the front covers. I told him that I thought this monologue, called Morning, Noon and Night, was his best work and he responded with a calm “Thank you.” When he’d closed the last book, I offered my own thanks and sat next to my wife on a bench in the Folly Theatre lobby while he finished signing programs for his other follwers.

Gray, who in no way physically resembled a movie star or anyone extraordinary, for that matter, had just given the most impressive performance that I’d ever seen. For the 90-minute show, he sat behind a wooden desk with a notebook and cup of water, wryly re-telling the story of how he became a father to his own newborn son, but also to two step-children that came with his new marriage. He’d also taken to living the quiet life in upstate New York, a stark contrast to the city dwelling that was so central to his character and the neurotic, tightly-wound stories he performed for years.

The sweater he wore that night was the same color as the roots in his parted gray hair. About 20 minutes had passed since the show ended. He’d no doubt showered and was more relaxed now, off stage, but it was astounding how much more subdued he was. He seemed almost post-coital – not nearly as hilarious and poignant as he’d been moments before with the stage lights up.

My wife and I were especially moved by Morning, Noon and Night since we were contemplating the addition of another child. We sat on the bench about 10 minutes and exchanged a few glances with Gray. We were partially in awe, as silly as it is to say so, and we didn’t want the night we had together to end.

I’d been a Gray fan since college when a rather eccentric friend introduced to Gray with a washed out, almost bootleg -like copy of Swimming to Cambodia. The film involving the K’hmer Rouge’s rise to power and the ensuing genocide throughout Cambodia was shot in Thailand and Gray’s experience portraying one of the last American’s evacuated was the film’s centerpiece.

That was the first time I’d seen him reel off endless lines of dialogue that must have filled several notebooks – only he recited it all from memory, with voice inflections and real drama, as though he was telling the story for the first time and it wasn’t scripted. On that video cassette, I first became familiar with the strange happenings in his life and the precarious situations where only he could find himself.

But I also remember a difference in me. I remember imagining how completely un-entertained my family and friends might have been to sit down and try to watch the movie with me. I felt like I’d discovered a piece of myself that day, which is why I felt I lost so much in 2004 when Gray was reported missing.

Gray, who’d always been haunted by his mother’s suicide, was in a car accident in 2001 that left him severely depressed and physically damaged. He later committed suicide by jumping off the Staten Island Ferry.

I wish I had said something more in our short visit, maybe something about the impression he left on me, but those comments come off as mere flattery from fans. He was a genius but an ordinary man, just as he looked – dressed warmly and gracious to those of us who wanted to be in his presence.

Tags: Pop Stars