I was very disheartened to read about the passing of one of my dearest old friends, Lawrence Magnolia, this weekend. My heart goes out to his family as I am sure your hearts go out to me during this difficult period of adjustment.
I last spoke to old Mags just twenty six years ago this July when we bumped into each other in the lobby of some dilapidated theatre which was showing a revival of our mutual friend’s cabaret show, How Not to Get Kicked When Involved in a Street Fight (the arrangements for which were done by a lovely man whose name I can’t just now recall but whose begonias were amongst the best I’ve ever seen). Lawrence looked resplendent in his corduroy suit, though I remember him remarking that he felt a bit overheated and I think now if I only I had insisted that he go straight to hospital to get that checked out, perhaps he would still be with us today.
I wish I could ring his darling wife Margaret to let her know how I am coping with the loss, but I am afraid I’ve misplaced their phone number and also I have never met her. But my thoughts are with her as I struggle with the knowledge that so many of my friends, people I’ve known and greatly influenced for the better part of my life, are proving to be less hardy than I.