Joho the Blog
An Entry from the Archives

Spalding Gray's disappearance has upset me a geat deal. I'm not certain why. He's not someone who I would have picked as being important to my life. Certainly I loved his art. Maybe it's because he allowed himself to be so vulnerable – so raw. Then again, despite his personal pain, he seemed like he was happy and content with his new family. This gave us hope for our own lives and our own personal pain. All I can do is send my best wishes to those who loved him and wish them hope.

Oh God...I just don't know where to begin...I am just SO devastated by Spalding's disappearance. I feel like I've lost a part of myself.

He was supposed to make an appearance at a theatre in West Palm Beach a couple of weeks ago, and the day I went online to order the tickets, something in my head said don't...so I clicked out of that site and on to Yahoo news, and the first thing I see is Spalding Gray Reported Missing. I just can't believe it.

I've seen him perform numerous times, read all his books and have all the video and CD versions of his monologues. My sister and I quote him CONSTANTLY. He has bought us so much joy...and now...so much sadness.

I too suffer from depression, some highs, lots of lows...and right now, I'm about as low down as can be. Spalding is in my head and heart, and my heart is broken.

Spalding, please come back to us...we need you!

I saw many of Spalding's early monologues and the Wooster Group shows. I even adapted his Rumstick Road piece (based on tapes he'd done with his family about his mother's suicide) with the Remains Theater in Chicago under the title Family Snapshot, getting permission from Spalding by mail. The first time I met him was at a performance of Squat's Three Sisters. I introduced myself to him, and he said "You know, I was just thinking about you." I attended parties at his loft when he lived on Wooster. Over the years his performances took on great importance to me, relating deeply to his disarming candor. Having left New York in the early 90s, the last time I saw him was when he did Gray's Anatomy at UCLA in 1994 -- the same week fellow Wooster Ron Vawter died. The tragedies of the last couple years almost seemed to fit him perfectly, but even though I have not seen him now forever, if Spalding has gone and done it I feel such a loss. I feel powerless and unable to communicate. The ego seems cracked. I pray that this will turn into a new monologue.

I don't know what to say. It's disturbing yet somehow not a total surprise. I feel a connection with him when I read his books and watch his monologues. He is missed. I just feel such sympathy for his kids and wife. Suicide is a totally selfish act. I'm certain he was terribly depressed and could only focus on his mental anguish and frustration. I will miss you Spalding.

In 1999 I looked up Spalding Gray on the internet to see if there was info on his classes. I had just been in a major accident and wanted to see if he was going to be conducting workshops. I found a number and called. A man answered the phone and said "hello". I said "is this The Spalding Gray Fan Club". I felt a very strange feeling I had said something stupid. He said, "no, this is Spalding Gray." I had dialed his home number! We spoke for 10 minutes and he sounded very interested in what had led me to call and details of my accident. I am to this day touched by his warmth. I wish his family well and hope for the best.

spalding... honey, i will miss you so. i didn't know you personally, but you're work touched my heart.

god bless you. be at peace, sweetie.

He strikes me as a self-indulgent being. Has kids at an advanced age when he can't even take care of himself...

I saw Mr. Gray only once at the Norris Theater in Palos Verdes doing "the Monster". The performance was fine but the audience was too noisy(coughing, snorting, etc.) to hear and enjoy the performance. I've been checking the NY Times website almost daily for any news of Mr. Gray, no doubt his family deserves the succor and comfort each of us need right now. I'm keeping a hopeful thought.

While I never knew personaly or talked to Spalding, nor have I seen all of his works, I am saddened by his loss. I had first heard of him when I happened to catch "monster" on HBO one boring afternoon. I remember watching at first with the attitiude of "what the heck??" but within a short time I was totally enthralled with him. His delivery and style were amazing, totaly captivating. I must have watched "Monster" 6 or 7 times before HBO stopped running it. I am pleased to say that I have seen him in West Paln Beach svereal years ago, and I was amused at the time to see one of Palm Beaches leading satirical columnists, Frank Cerebino watching in the audience with as rapt attention as the rest of the audience. That is the respect Spalding commanded. Unlike the poster above who didn't buy tickets for his West Palm Beach show, my daughter and I had 4th row center seats as soon as they went on sale. As the news broke of his disappearance, I dreaded the call from the Box office saying they had cancelled the shows. I will miss Spalding, but I still have his books and films to remember him by and to pass on his humor and, yes, wisdom to as many as will listen.

I saw Spalding Gray play Hoss in "The Tooth of
Crime" in the mid-seventies. He wore a skin tight
silver jumpsuit in some of the scenes. The acting and everything in the show blew my mind. Later, I saw some of the Rhode Island pieces and a monolog or two. Anyone who has seen him perform knows how special he is/was. The world needs more Spuddy
Grays, not less. What a loss.

The first time I experienced Spalding Gray was in the Wooster Group's "Nayatt School," where Spalding played as protagonist/narrator/stage manager. I was spellbound by his character of himself, what evolved as an ongoing work of self as art, most notably his series of monologs, a life's work that is essentially American, by nature, experimental and confessional.

In the early '80s, Spalding generously allowed a green grad student to meet with him to discuss his monologs. Spalding's gift for lyrical and exquisitely articulated self-analysis fascinated me so -- and I learned from those conversations an approach to living where attention to the present, appreciation for the details of our daily lives, the importance and usefulness of stepping back to read and revise events from our lives, living to write, writing to live. Lifelike art. Persona performance. As Richard Schechner says, "He was a pioneer in saying that the border between the private and public is a very blurry boundary."

Spalding, thank you so much for showing me that there is a palette of possibilities I can take and make with what I do, who I am, the story I tell in my daily interactions. Your work has changed my life.

May you be safe, and may your soul be at peace.

I can't stop thinking about Spalding Gray. Each day I check paper for any word. I have been seeing Spalding Gray perform since my college days in 1987. I have seen him do Monster in a Box, Grays Anatomy, Morning Noon & Night, and a few years ago at UCLA he revised Swimming to Cambodia, where he made reference to his accident in Ireland. I have always felt he was a special voice in the world and my heart is heavy thinking that he has gone and muffled that voice. My thoughts go out to his wife and children. I hope they know that Spalding has touched many people in the world just by being honest about his problems and feelings. It is my greatest wish that he did not do the unthinkable, but I can't seem to gather the hope that he is still with us. I hope Spalding is found soon.

It's amazing, to me, that Spalding would vanish so
abruptly! I knew him at the Caffe Lena in 1966-67, in Saratoga Springs, New York. During that time I gave him a Navy Pea Coat for the winter weather because he didn't have one. We all lived
together in a big Victorian House on upper Phila
Street. John Wynn Evans was the director of the
Caffe Lena Gallery Players of which Spalding and
myself, Roger Robinson, Lena Spencer and a host of
others were players. I saw Spalding when he played the Egg in 1989. We were to meet Lena Spencer there that night, but afterwards when everyone was standing around and Spalding said "Hello Bria where's Lena?" I said we were
supposed to meet her here but she hasn't shown up.
Then I went to phone the Caffe and Lena had fallen
down the staircase as the Caffe on her way to Spaldings Show at the Egg in Albany. She went into a coma and never woke up and died at the end of 1989 in Schenectady Hospital. Spalding was helping John Wynn Evans who was one of his friends
from those days and a director of Theater from
Wales and Broadway in NYC. I don't know whether
John is still alive or not...besides Death is but
a word we say...I'm sure Spaldings' family knows
that because if he's crossed over he's probably haunting them...

Thinking of Spalding Gray this morning - and I found the link above, to your blog.

I met Spalding Gray in an interesting way.

I knew he was coming to Atlanta to perform. And by the process of deduction I figured out where he was going to be staying, and left a hand-written card for him, with a massage therapy business card. This was in the early 90's.

He telephoned me, and set up a massage appointment for that day or the next, not quite sure.

It was always quite thrilling to pick up the telephone and find that it was a well-known person calling me. Whether it was Kevin Kline, Brad Pitt, or Jason Robards, or anyone else who called themselves, not having an assistant set up their appointment, it was hard for me to keep my feet on the ground, and stay "professional".

So, I met Spalding at the door of his hotel room, set up my table, and we chatted, and I gave him a massage. He was performing that evening, so he put me on the guest list, and I had the opportunity to see him perform, which was quite a fantastic thing. And after the show, I didn't hang around. I enjoyed the performance, and then I slipped away.

Part of that experience was that he didn't have any method of paying me, so he took my address, and the next week, I received a check from him with a hand-written note. I still have that note, of course.

And the next year, when he returned for another one-man performance, he contacted me, and the same series of events happened - I had the chance to chat with him for a bit, I worked on him, I heard about his year, briefly in review, and I saw his performance that night.

There was no doubt about the fact that Spalding was Spalding - whether on stage or just talking.

And if I wasn't a smitten fan prior to meeting him, I certainly was after these personal experiences.

I'm trying to not dwell on his disappearance. I'm hoping that he's off doing things he needs to do, healing, taking some time. I'm hoping.

I was shocked and truly saddened to here about Spalding Grays disappearance. The reports of him being last seen on the ferry have me fearing the worst. Spalding is a true original.
"Swimming to Cambodia," "Monster in a Box," and "Gray's Anatomy" are all incredible pieces. To think that there might not ever be anymore from him is heartbreaking. Let's all just hope that he has gone into seclusion to get his head together and that he will return to his family soon. I and all of his other fans should refuse to speak of him in the past tense until it is certain.

I too, keep looking for some good news regarding Mr. Gray. Having enjoyed his stage and film work, I was so delighted to meet him in a little book shop in Studio City, Ca. years ago, when he signed my copy of "Swimming to Cambodia." I cherish the few personal lines he wrote and our brief hello. In good moments, I imagine him creating the monologue to top all others about this very strange time he went missing, when he just couldn't handle the chilled depths of yet another New York winter. In the coziness of a warm and intimate little theatre, we would all laugh with him yet again as he parlayed the dread we now feel into a witty and quirky tale, rife with the absurdities and joy of life. The rest of the time, I pray that his precious soul is finally in perpetual peace, and that his family may in time be comforted by the sweetest of memories which are theirs alone.

I too, keep looking for some good news regarding Mr. Gray. Having enjoyed his stage and film work, I was so delighted to meet him in a little book shop in Studio City, Ca. years ago, when he signed my copy of "Swimming to Cambodia." I cherish the few personal lines he wrote and our brief hello. In good moments, I imagine him creating the monologue to top all others about this very strange time he went missing, when he just couldn't handle the chilled depths of yet another New York winter. In the coziness of a warm and intimate little theatre, we would all laugh with him yet again as he parlayed the dread we now feel into a witty and quirky tale, rife with the absurdities and joy of life. The rest of the time, I pray that his precious soul is finally in perpetual peace, and that his family may in time be comforted by the sweetest of memories which are theirs alone.

I couldn't go to sleep tonight without trying to find out if there was any news; I've waited all this time, as I didn't want to read anything sad. In finally searching the web tonight, I stumbled upon this site. You sound like a wonderful and true friend, a rarity in this age. When I first heard the news report, it hit me in my gut as I know that slippery slope and have avoided it most of my life. I'm sad to say I have not experienced his work, but only know of it generally. But I knew there was a dark side, and I guess that kindred spirit struck a chord. He's in my prayers.

I have been devastated by the news of Spalding's "possible" suicide. I find myself searching the web frequently to see if there has been any news, hopefully good. Why am I doing this? Why is this particular story important to me?
Spalding has touched my life, not in a direct personal way that some of the above have been touched, but more in the way that most of us have experienced him, through his art. While fully realizing that his work is a strange hybrid of reality and fiction, it is hard to feel that I don't know him. He felt like a close friend, someone you laughed with, wept with and ultimately cared for.
The ugly spectre of his death has made me realize that I didn't know him at all.
Suicide is known as the ultimate selfish act. The fact that you have willingly seperated yourself from your life, from your family and friends is said to be cruel. My web searches over the past few weeks have made me begin to think otherwise. Spalding was a horribly damaged man, both physically and mentally. The pain and suffering he had endured over the past years seem to have been intolerable. Even someone who wasn't prone to entertaining thoughts of suicide would have been hard pressed not to consider that an option. To Spalding it must have seemed like destiny.
So was it selfish for him to end it? If there was no more hope, there can be no recovery. I am in no way condoning this action, but I sincerely hope he has found peace.
I am beginning to think, especially in this case, that the feeling of selfishness come from those left behind. The clinging on to a man who was so troubled that the thought of remaining alive was unbearable. I find that I can no longer experience any of his works. The minor traumas of home buying in "Paradise" are completely insignifigant now. The perfect moment in "Swimming" seems tainted. The realization that he can't answer suicide calls for Christmas in "Monster" is now heartbreaking. Most devastingly, the grumpily happy family man of "Morning" is now completely unreadable. I feel as if something priceless has been stolen and can never be recovered. I am angry at the man who did this. Now who's the selfish one? Me.
I hope you are in a better place.

Spalding, you have been such a gift to us all.

Yes it is hard to see sometimes but trust what you read above, from the little people.

Want a breath of fresh air? Come to Vancouver Island. It saved my life.

I am just one more bipolar but I survived. Trust the ones that know.

Pommefrite

hahah get lives...

I'm hearsick over this happening. I first became a fan wandering in to see Monster in a Box in a Minneapolis Theater on film. Summer of 1992. I was then given "Impossible Vacation" by my boyfriend which we would take turns reading to eachother in bed, both having to stop to laugh till we were spitting....I kept up on the book, getting them all. In 1998, I saw he was going to be in Sante Fe, so I planned a trip from Kansas City to Sante Fe---this was the Interviewing the Audience show, he did interview me before in the lobby, what a striking man. The next month, he happened to be in Minneapolis at the Walker, and I dragged my father...He seemed to remember me in the lobby by sight, what a beautiful man. I am sorry for the pain of bipolar disorder and perhaps the brain trauma was just too much. I had been looking for his latest book, newer than Morning Noon and Night....I cannot tell anyone how many hours this man helped me laugh, helped me say, "see, there is something worthwhile...."....such an original voice, an authentic voice. I am very sad.

P.S. I just have to say to anyone else out there, I too have bipolar disorder, and I think of what my parents told me when I was very young that if I was in any danger, to run and get help.
I do that now and persist. I am so sorry this person I idealized, because I could related, felt he could not get a solution. "God help us", as the NY mag article says he said, "God help us all." I am afraid what the waters will up in the spring.

One hour and twenty minutes of his life gave me years and years of language. I can speak because of him. Why don't you go back to the country, OLD MAN?
Vomit, cover, sand, mask...

It's senseless to try to recreate it. I'm just grateful that I ever knew it at all.

Could you call number 8 please?

i had the great pleasure of finally meeting Spaulding in the early 90s during one of his book tours in Atlanta...it was particularly great for me because we got to spend time and talk about the creative process and he sweetly and patiently answered my questions and gave me sound advice I use to this day...What makes this situation all too familiar and hard is I lost my sister to suicide around that same time. and to hear that he most likely did that as well....its sure brings up alot of memories and feelings of that event I went thru..., my heart goes out to his family. Unless you have been through this yourself, you really don't know what it's like dealing with all the unanswered questions and the stress of it all...
I send my best to his family and want them to know how his creative gift has touched so many and how he won't be forgotten, I wish this had never happend to him or to any of you, it is a sad senseless,tragic thing and I hope you get the closure and peace we all deserve in this crazy world. Again I'm so sorry. My sincere regards.

I hate to add a third comment, seeming obsessive, well that's the gist of Spalding anyway----I will never forget the image of Spalding at the Walker Art Center in the lobby before the show. It was as if the scruffy smaller appearing man in a plaid shirt had been morphed into some very tall Ralph Lauren (he had said people mistook him for Lauren). He was magnetic and glamourous. A bit of a hypomanic high? Perhaps. But before I had seen him in person, I didn't expect a particularly attractive man and he was so great looking. I am so upset. The new Spalding book I had looked for will not come. I am so glad to have seen him in person twice, to have actually talked to him. He asked me the standard pre-interview questions and I was so nervous I didn't come up with very creative answers. In Sante Fe, he asked me several "How long did it take you do get here?" I described the trip from Albequerque. I should have said, "all my life".....I had so wanted to be up on stage, to be chosen. It's like what Spalding may have said at points. Well, I won't blog up this machine more. Thanks for the outlet and the laughter Spald.

That was me, again, up there.

I forgot to say he had a white linen suit on at the Walker. It's important to my image. Ok enough, I know.

I just read the news that they found Spalding's body and I feel that I have lost a kindred spirit. I would delight in seeing him pop up in a movie and I saw him perform live in Houston every time he was here. My sympathies to his wife and children as they begin their lives without him. He will be missed and we can only hope that his soul is finally at peace.

Today, I went to get the news paper from the stairs - I usually don't even bother with the paper - but today I leaned down to pick it up and saw a picture of Mr. Gray - I thought "oh! I love Spalding Gray - what's this all about!" I stood there in shock - I stood there in the sun with the paper opened out on the stair reading every word of an obituary in complete shock. Mr. Gray was a big part of my life - a past part of my life - in a weird sort of way I always felt like I really knew him - like he was my friend - he was my hero for admitting to wanting to commit suicide - even trying - but always finding a way not to...and even now I understand I utterly understand.

I just heard the horrible news on CBS Sunday Morning. As a fellow Yankee also struggling with depression, I found myself drawn to his vulnerable, yet charismatic personality he shared with the world through his work. Spalding... I pray you found peace finally. My heart is broken.

I had the pleasure of presenting Spalding Gray at my studio theatre in Portsmouth NH. This was in the 80's. He was touring small towns in New England with INTERVIEWING THE AUDIENCE. He came into town on the bus. I met him and we went for a drink. He told me about his mother's suicide...among other more forgettable anecdotes. I was amazed by how he immediately directed the conversation to such a deeply personal level. That evening he told the same stories to the entire audience. He interviewed several audience members. He asked one gentleman why he had fathered so many children...the answer was..."I love the smell of their heads." It was funny, and at the same time very moving...Spalding was certainly moved by the visceral tactile truth of this comment. Spalding spent the night at the home of a community member who had a child enrolled in our children's dance class program. The next day was our big recital....tutus....sparkles...sugar plum fairies. He attended and watched the entire proceedings...sober as a judge. After the show he attended a barbecue with the parents and kids. He seemed so entirely non-judgemental about the happenings. Here he was, an avant-garde theatre artist hobnobbing with little sugar-plum fairies....no problem. I was touched.
When it was time for him to leave for his next gig...in another small New England town... I picked him up to take him back to the bus station. Instead he asked me to let him off at the entrace to the highway. He'd decided to hitch hike. I tried to talk him out of it but he insisted. So I drove away leaving him by the highway in his trenchcoat...holding his suitcase...thumb out....
An unforgettable character. I'm glad to have had the opportunity to spend a day in his company.
Marguerite

I first met Spalding Gray in a dorm room, on a Thursday night. I had just received my first good pot experience the weekend before and had just received my first A on an English paper. Having the room to myself, I hit the play button on the stereo, and Gang of Seven's finest artist began to describe his experience of writing Impossible Vacation.

The monologue reared up and integrated itself into all of the positive things I have ever told myself about my writing. From that point, if someone didn't like what I wrote, they simply didn't get it.

I took Spalding Gray wherever I went, and like a rare moment in radio where a song they play over and over is a song that I could never get tired of, the listening of Monster In a Box became ritual, an affirmation of the best that I had to offer. I made my parents and girlfriend listen to it (the parents were big Garrison Keillor fans at the time), and they laughed and reflected the same way that I did.

Occasionally, you run across something that hits right home; you're open to it. It's hard to explain how you know when this phenomenon happens because its potency is dependent upon your own filters of perception. But it happens, and you are moved beyond understanding. It was like that every time I heard a monologue by Spalding Gray. I felt the same way every time I heard the comedy of Bill Hicks. Something significant happened.

My father committed suicide in January of 2001. While I knew that there was nothing I could do about this, in his remains was a receipt for a gas station in the town that I lived. I always wonder what would have happened if he had stopped by and sobered up. His depression was accelerated by alcohol, and he had just jumped off of the wagon. Would I have been compassionate? Would I have turned him away in his drunken stupor?

Dad was a great storyteller, and generally a very funny man. His group made its living earlier in his life sharing the stage with James Brown, Ike and Tina, and Bill Haley and the Comets.

Spalding Gray was the embodiment of my father.

When I visited New York City in 1992, my girlfriend and I broke up, and yet it was one of the best experiences of my life. I think Spalding would have liked that.

Grant Robinson

Did anyone catch the Fresh Air tribute to Spuddy?

"I'm not a nice person, Terry."

What a refreshing look at life. I can be mean and still be myself.

Spuddy, you may think you weren't nice, but you were nice to me. I don't need more than that.

Hello everyone,

Spalding has been on my mind since the tragedy, and I wrote the following. I'm now in the process of re-reading his books and rewatching his monologues.I want to write more on the subject.
Thank you.

---------------------------------------
ESSENCE OF SPALDING; FLYING TO NIRVANA

SPALDING GRAY
1941 - 2004

by A. F. Waddell

His words were real: life feeding back upon itself; his props were basic: a folding chair, a wooden table, a notebook, a glass of water, a microphone. Energy seemed barely contained under his brown-to-gray hair, suntanned skin, plaid shirt, and jeans. Wait. Did he wear cords? I can't remember. As I recall, he didn't often stand up.

I first became familiar with Spalding Gray in the 1980s. I remember asking the Waldenbooks clerk: "Do you have Sex and Death to the Age 14 ?" He checked his computer. "No. But how about In Search of the Monkey Girl?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.

Essence of Spalding: add a dash of the metaphysical, a splash of the karmic; drench it in psychology and sharp social insight/satire; pour in organic, personal, stream of consciousness storytelling. Spalding intimately shared his life experiences with us. I never had the opportunity to attend a monologue performance, but devoured his books and filmed performances.

I was a budding, inhibited writer: astounded by Spalding's honesty, wit, lack of inhibition, style, and lyrical descriptive ability. I identified with him: a weak boundary issue no doubt; too many too easily invaded. It's been said that psychotherapy kills creativity: not Spalding's.

I was unaware of Spalding and Kathie's 2001 car accident, until Spalding went missing in January 2004. I was totally shocked. His life must have been hellish after his injuries and surgeries. Managable pre-existing depression must have gone ballistic. How ironical and sad that he'd at last reached a contentment in marriage and fatherhood, only to have his life slammed by a van on a lonely Ireland road.

One January night I dug through my videos and found Monster in a Box. I'd not viewed it in years. I turned off the lights and lit candles. I was once again enthralled by Spalding's energy and words. And I couldn't get my mind around the fact that he was likely gone from earth --- hopefully, flying to nirvana.

In the last few years I ocassionally searched for his web presence and found nada. I imagined that he was too busy with life and love and art to be concerned with the relative banality of flickering cyberspace. I however learned that shortly before his disappearance, Spalding and dedicated fan John Bolland discussed the creation of spaldinggray.com.

http://www.afwaddell.com/spalding.html

I may go the way of Spalding Grey
Plunged into the cold waters of the East River
Polluted waters filled his lungs
As his thoughts still sought questions
"To be or not to be?", until the end
Was relief found, another place more fair and forgiving?
Can he see those that are grieving?
A goldfish trapped in a round bowl
Unable to touch the hair of his childen
Or does he commune with the dead
Debating issues with Socrates
Can this be the right choice, not to be.
Are we given another chance?
To ply our efforts to be yet again
In a place where the mundane is far away
And peace is found without judgement?