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dimming a broadway light

September 30th, 2009 by

Sonny Everett died.

I don’t know if this happened today or yesterday, but I just have to write about him for a moment.  Sonny was a theatre producer and helluva charmer.  He came to the Big Apple by way of Toadsuck, Arkansas.  Yes, that’s for real.  Sonny was one of the producers for In The Heights, Avenue Q, West Side Story (the revival) and White Christmas.  He also co-produced a beautiful play with me called Marion Bridge (by Daniel MacIvor).

I’m really teary about Sonny, which is a little funny because I didn’t see him all the time or anything.  It’s just that when I did, he was so kind and witty and deeply dear.  He “came out” at 70.  I find that remarkable.  He used to wear bright pink socks and colorful bow ties.  He’d take me to scrumptious Italian dinners in New York and tell me how he shouldn’t be eating the bread, but it was just too good not to.  We had lunch at Sardi’s once, and he whispered all kinds of theatrical gossip to me.  I “lapped it up like good, thick cream” as my Dad would say.

I know that Sonny hadn’t been feeling great this past year, and maybe I’m a little sad that I didn’t reach out to him more.  I know in my heart he’s at peace now and free to experience unencumbered joy.  I told my friend, Mary, that because of Sonny, all of us who knew him are now a little funnier, a tad more charming, and perhaps just a wee bit more remarkable ourselves.  That’s how it works, if we allow it.  Friends die but their essence lives on in our hearts, and in the quiet revelation of memory, they come back and teach us something fabulous – like the power of pink in a sock.

Sonny, I love you.  And I hope that your place among the stars dazzles.  Until we meet again, my friend, bravo to you.

  1. RpJ says:

    Friend speaks my mind . . .