Remembering Robert Hilferty

I have thus far resisted the temptation to eulogize on my blog, but the passing of my longtime friend Robert Hilferty in July has left me deeply saddened. I consider myself unusually fortunate in having met and befriended many wonderful people in my life. Robert was in every way among the most exceptional. As I come to terms with his death, I feel I would be negligent were I not to state publicly my admiration, respect and profound sadness.

Much has been written about Robert’s accomplishments as a writer, an activist and filmmaker, including a succinct article in the New York Times. But because Robert was such a well known voice in the cause of AIDS awareness and Gay Rights, there has been a flood of blogging by his many friends and admirers. I spent some time today reading and was most impressed by David Adler’s portrait, which captures the passion and love of life that characterized Robert.

I first met Robert in June 1987 at a recital of Mahler and Liszt by French pianist Alain Kremski. I recall the small room with blond hardwood floors, folding chairs, and the Steinway Concert Grand; a perfectly suitable Parisian venue for a small public recital somewhere in the shadow of Montmartre. At intermission, I found myself in a courtyard garden with a group of people, among whom was a young New Yorker with brown hair and glasses and an ever-present smile. As happens, being the only two Americans in the gathering, we started talking.

The intervening twenty-two years have clouded my recollection, but Robert and I met again soon after at another event, and the stage was set for a long (but not long enough) friendship. I found in him a fellow seeker, but one who was never unprepared. He had come to Paris to see, hear and explore, and if there was any event happening in Paris in that summer of 1987 that contained even the most exiguous cultural value, Robert knew exactly where and when it was happening. As I had a slightly more go-as-you-please approach to the city of lights, I benefited tremendously from him and credit him with many of the more edifying experiences I had that summer.

Robert once called me up and said, “I found a fruit vendor over near Père-Lachaise who is selling nectarines that are perfectly white, and sweeter than anything you have ever imagined,” and in the period of time it took for us to meet and ride the metro to the seller’s location, the fruit developed a mythic significance. (And for good reason, because Robert was right: they were the finest nectarines I have ever had). In nearly every conversation I’ve had with Robert in the years since, he has included a retelling of our discovery of the world’s best fruit stand and those delectable French nectarines.

There was a fierceness, tenacity and commitment he had to telling stories, be they a light-hearted anecdote or one of mortal consequence. As a freelance journalist, his criticism and analysis of Film, Drama, Dance and Opera serve as an enduring articulation of the importance, and the beauty of the performing arts. Many of his writings are available online, at Bloomberg, The Village Voice, New York Magazine, and elsewhere. His efforts to give voice to the crisis of the AIDS epidemic starting in the later half of the 1980’s were remarkably effective and unquestionably sincere. Robert never raised his voice about things he didn’t feel passionately for, and we are all the better for it.

I, like many others who knew him, have lost someone who truly mattered.

NOTE: This post was originally published on a diffeernt blog in 2009, and reposted here for archival reasons.