Howie
When I moved to New York, my friend Sally Young gave me your number. You were her accountant. You were living on 3rd Street in the East Village across from the Hell’s Angels. A fourth-floor walkup. I found you sitting on the floor surrounded by boxes overflowing with papers. You used to perform in the East Village clubs and at the underground 8BC with your band Mildred Pierce. I brought my documents and figures to you for almost 40 years. Even behind a desk (or on the floor), you were entertaining—you could enter figures on paper or into a computer, give financial advice, analyze the market and those who control the flow of money and power, while intermittently telling stories and cracking jokes. You never charged me as much as you could cause you knew how much I didn’t have. You helped set up Long News so we could get grants, and later you helped me dismantle it. You taught courses at Pratt and elsewhere in finance, economics and musicology. You had a brilliant mind. I’d bring you a coffee and you’d spin my head around. What’s your name? What’s your income? Are you rich? Are you rich like me. Your baritone could slide right into soprano. In the post-tax season performance, you’d sing variations on pop and jazz tunes. There's one for you, nineteen for me. Cause I’m the taxman. You were a hoot. Up and down the stairs I’d go to your 3rd Street apartment, then to Chelsea, the jewelry district, midtown, downtown, wherever you were. Many of my poet and artist friends came to you. It became a communal affair. On stage you were a hip rocking dancing improv artist. You kept it up even as an older guy. Worried about losing your sight, you had an operation, and it was miraculous. Without glasses you could now see those numbers on and off the screen. You were ecstatic, performing more and going out with beautiful young women who you told me a lot about while you worked on my taxes. I used to bring you a coffee. You always had incredible energy and life force. A Brooklyn born descendent of Russian Jewish immigrants, you grew up in Flatbush, studied at Sarah Laurence and NYU, and you had multiple performances over the years in the New York theaters and clubs. Last year when you said you had to quit meeting with clients, I wasn’t sure if it was for sure. After all you’d said it before in 2018 (and before that, too) at a post-tax-season performance: I may in fact be stepping down in my role as body shrinker, tax advisor, quasi financial partner and general bud. But now you’re off the scene, retired, and just like that the East Village will never be the same, and the next generation in the New York art community will never again find a tax man quite like you.
