The Velvet Suit

BY ARON PASTERNACK, TUFTS IN LONDON STUDENT 1971-1972, ACTOR MILWAUKEE REPERTORY THEATER
I quote from Bill Hurt's posting: "Tony intimidated me." I met Bill as a fellow student at Tufts-in-London in September 1971. Tony was the director of the program. Oh my goodness did Tony intimidate me! He was impossibly sophisticated, quick witted, elegant, and critical. A wealth of knowledge, opinion, and style. Overflowing with words and attitude. Charismatic. Long flowing hair, dressed in a velvet suit. Impossible! I was provincial and not fully formed. I had never lived outside of Hartford. Like the great majority of the other students, I was determined to jump into London life anchored by our improvised dorm and classroom space at the Reynolds Hotel, Stanhope Gardens, South Kensington SW7. Hard to imagine how different it was then, un-gentrified, non-European, closer to the second World War then to the present. The cheapest tube ticket was 5p, and you could feast on curry in Earl's Court for less than 50p. Theatre tickets were available to everything at all times, and the best seat in the house was no more than a pound. We saw everything everywhere, the National (a season with Olivier as Shylock and James Tyrone), the RSC (the Brook Dream), the West End and fringe. Gloucester Road was a bit seedy. We Americans missed burgers as all that was available were the unspeakable wimpeys; the Hard Rock Café was years in the future. Together, we took classes from really interesting teachers, recruited by Tony and others from life rather than from academia. I still remember E. Martin Browne teaching a course about T.S. Eliot and reminiscing about his friendship with Eliot. George Macbeth, a prince of a poet. Jean Anscombe, Tony's unflappable and completely remarkable assistant, who dispensed honey when it was needed. And Tony, all-seeing, all-knowing, simultaneously above the fray and in the thick of it all. A true "director" in every sense of the word.

Here's a silly story. The weather that fall was glorious, clear and crisp autumn days like the best of New England, no rain at all. Those first few weeks I carried a red umbrella at all times; I guess it was a crutch and an affectation. Finally, one day Tony came up to me and purred "Now Aron, you re-a-lly don't need to carry that, do you?" Mortified, I realized that I didn't. Here's another story. One of the students, Peter Popov, met and made a movie about the British Hell's Angels, and invited them to our Christmas party. I'd say about a third of the faculty and staff left early with astonished stiff upper lips. Tony, of course, went with the flow and enjoyed the party thoroughly.

By the end of the year, I was sure I had transformed into a Mid-Atlantic creature of great distinction, an erstwhile writer, director, and Londoner. Well, I didn't know that I had (and still have) a long way to go; but, natives would stop me in the street and ask for directions, so I guess Tony and the program did have some good influence. That year was a true turning point. I started thinking seriously about theatre studies. And I began to work through a huge personal loss. My mother passed away in November; I went home and came back to London after a week. Needless to say, Tony and Linda were a source of support. On my behalf, Linda even unearthed her Jewish roots and invited me to a Passover Seder in the cold wet spring. Thank you Linda for your kindness then and I send you and Simon now my love and a symbolic pot of the chicken soup of comfort.

I saw Tony at the annual Tufts Drama New York reunion party - could it have been only two years ago? We took up the conversation from thirty years earlier as if it had never been interrupted. The long hair and the velvet suit were gone but the sophistication, wit, and elegance remained. What a teacher! What a director! What a guy! Thank you, Tony, thank you for everything.