CATCHING UP

The New York Times finally caught up with us and ran its obituary (free registration required) about David Jiranek

The Jiranek family put on an unforgettable memorial service Sunday at Lucas Point Beach in Old Greenwich, Conn., where he grew up. Dubbed "The David Show" by Todd Hoffman, one of his four half-brothers, it was both touching and irreverent -- so much so that the speakers had more than 400 guests dabbing away tears of sadness while laughing at hilarious stories about David Jiranek's improbable perfection of life. His many good works were not glossed over, but neither were they dwelt upon.

There were several themes. The most common was the gratitude expressed by everyone who knew him for "making life more fun." (He was an inveterate practical joker and named his 32-foot sloop "Bouncing Czechs.") His brothers actually contemplated pulling off a scandalous practical joke at the service because they believed he probably would have thought one up himself to enjoy the scandal. The practical jokes they considered were not revealed -- at least not in public. To get an idea of how far "The David Show" might have gone, however, I asked Todd Hoffman what they were.

One joke was to accidentally spill David's cremated remains on the way down the aisle. Another was to toss his ashes in the air with the purposeful nonchalance of an imitation religious blessing, sort of a Don Novello number. It would have been in keeping with David's real-life antics. On his sister-in-law's wedding night, for instance, he got into her wedding dress and traipsed down the main drag of Cold Spring, N.Y., reciting Ophelia's lines from "Hamlet" in a falsetto voice. Even when the town police stopped him and asked what he thought he was doing, "he never broke character," Joe Hooper, his brother-in-law, told us.

Did I mention the gorgeous setting? The music of Miles Davis ("Kind of Blue") welcomed us as we assembled for the service on the beach under three white tents. An ocean breeze came off Long Island Sound. Beneath a vaulting blue sky, sailboats dotted the Sound out to the horizon. Jiranek's red racing bike and helmut stood near the podium, a reminder of his decade-long devotion to intense, regular bicycle trips with his closest friends.

Todd Hoffman did finally address what he called "the elephant on the beach, what we've been doing all this week, this 45-year-old crap." It was a reference to the fact that David Jiranek died so young, his premature death the result of a swimming accident. "We're using the wrong measuring stick," Hoffman said. "He did in 45 years what most of us won't do in 95 years." It didn't erase the pain of losing David. But it wasn't meant to. It recalled for  everyone the pleasure of his company.

August 25, 2003 12:07 PM |

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Me Elsewhere

'WILD SIDE' STILL ROCKS 

Nelson Algren was one of the great American authors of the 20th century, it is no exaggeration to say, and among the most neglected. Consider his underrated classic, "A Walk on the Wild Side." The title -- popularized and co-opted as an idiomatic phrase by Hollywood and Madison Avenue (institutions Algren loathed) -- is familiar to most anyone who speaks English or knows Lou Reed's lyrics. But the novel itself? Hardly.

BUSTER KEATON REVISITED 
Buster Keaton: Tempest in a Flat Hat is not a biography. "This book is merely a fan's notes," Edward McPherson writes in the introduction, although his publisher ignores the disclaimer and calls it a biography on the cover. In fact, the book is a bit of both, a difficult combination to bring off unless you're David Thomson, who set the standard with Rosebud, his penetrating rumination on the life and career of Orson Welles, which was nothing if not a distillation of every obsessive thought he ever had about the myth and the man and all his movies.
LAUREN BACALL, STILL SALTY AT 80 
When Lauren Bacall writes that her singing voice ranges "somewhere between B minus sharp and outer space," she's being candid and funny. It's not every stage star with two Tony Awards for best actress in a musical whose vocal talent offers so little promise. (OK, Harvey Fierstein excepted.) Still less would one admit it.
THE STARS ACCORDING TO BOGDANOVICH 
Peter Bogdanovich's superb collection of movie-star profiles and interviews -- a sequel to Who the Devil Made It, his interviews of top film directors -- begins with an affectionate tale about Orson Welles that reminds us just how intimate the author's connection to Hollywood's greatest has been. But contrary to what we've come to expect from dime-a-dozen celebrities and celebrity interviews not worth two cents, the tale avoids bromidic egotism and journalistic platitudes.
SAMMY'S WHITE DREAMS 
Four decades ago Lenny Bruce sentenced Sammy Davis Jr. to "30 years in Biloxi," stripping him of "his Jewish star" and "his religious statue of Elizabeth Taylor." Now we have two new biographies of Davis that spring him from ridicule, if not from doubts about his legacy, and restore a measure of dignity to a black entertainer whose huge fame and success never overcame his devout wish -- indeed his lifelong effort -- to be white.
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