(For #TBT, something -- quite sad, alas -- from the archives; 2014 to be specific.)
I've just gotten the horrible news my pal Michael Mattis died unexpectedly last night.
Michael was a bon vivant of whom Wodehouse would have been proud. A character, in the brightest and noblest sense of the word.
Besides all of the boulevardier-ness for which he was justifiably famous, he was also, quietly, an exceptionally kind and generous man, on whom I could (and did) count, especially one time when I had very publicly and humiliatingly blundered.
His advice, counsel, generosity and assistance to me were crucial at that time and, like the lion with the thorn in the paw, such kindness has and will not ever be forgotten.
I had wished to catch up with him on his recent trip here to Florida, but we never managed to square away our respective schedules. (OK, myschedule.) And now I'll have to wait until we're both on the other side.
I cannot express my sadness and shock and the depths to which I will miss him. Rest well, my friend. Requiem æternam dona ei, Domine, et lux perpetua luceat ei. Requiescat in pace. Amen.