Every now and then in life you run across someone you will never forget.  I will never forget the day I met Douglas.  Meeting Douglas was immediately uncomfortable.  At the time I met him, I worked for a high starch, button-down, law firm that did high end legal work for Fortune 500 companies.  The firm's lawyers sent out million dollar bills, and they were paid.  The lawyers were uptight, except for the times when they'd meet up with their secretaries on Saturdays for 'work'. 

So, one day I get a call from a local judge, who politely requested (read-gave me no choice) but to represent Douglas.   Douglas lived in New York City.  Douglas was an actor. He played Edgar Allan Poe, Charles Dickens, Galileo and one man plays all over the world.  The New York Times wrote an article about his performance of Santa Claus in Miracle on 34th Street on Broadway, hailing him as an acting genius, and he was.  The man quoted entire works of Shakespeare in my office.  My first meeting with Douglas lasted for 5 hours. We were instant friends.  Douglas was that way.

So, why was my meeting with Douglas uncomfortable?  Well the tale begins in New York City.  About 4 years ago, Douglas's mother passed away, and left him with a sizeable inheritance.  Douglas, after years of manic behavior and heavy cocaine use, now had money to resume his acting and hard living.  He bought new costumes, packed them in paper sacks and headed out to see the world.  But first, he wanted to catch up with old friends.  He flew to San Francisco to see an old lawyer friend of his. He showed up at his friend's house unannounced.  His friend welcomed him, and Douglas stayed for several days before his friend's wife kicked him out, mainly for hard drinking and obnoxious behavior. His friend drove him to the airport, where Douglas was to board a plane for Oregon, where he had several plays booked at a local theatre to play Edgar Allan Poe in a one man show.  Somehow Douglas wound up on a plane to Minneapolis.  Nobody knows how.  Somehow, someway, Douglas drank his way down the Mississippi River. He performed several plays along the way, spent some time on Beal Street in Memphis.  He then got on an Amtrak train and wound up in New Orleans.  Somewhere around 4 in the morning, Douglas decided he wanted a drink from the train's bar.  Unfortunately, Douglas went to the train's bar, wearing nothing but his Russian Bolshevik bear skin hat, and his slippers (Douglas could not wear shoes because his feet were so grossly distorted).  Douglas was jailed in New Olreans for public indecency.  He sat in jail for 30 days or so, and representing himself, had the charges dismissed, when he convinced the judge he was sleep walking, and further convinced the judge, the DA would be unable to produce witnesses from an Amtrak train to testify against him at trial.  Immediately upon his release from jail, he went to the courthouse to see the judge about suing Amtrak.  The judge sent him to me.

Douglas immediately came to my office.  He came carrying 3 paper bags which contained his costumes, and a plastic bag that contained his toiletries (which he clearly had not used since he was in jail).  So, I'm in this stuffy law firm, with a man who is every bit of 6'6, every bit of 350 pounds, wearing a heavy suit, a Russian Bolshevik hat (in the middle of summer in New Orleans), smoking a cigarette in the lobby (no smoking building), who smelled worse than anything you can imagine.  He also broke one of the antique chairs in the lobby (that had a do not sit sign on it).  The managing partner wanted to know what on earth I was doing, and I explained to him that Judge so and so sent him over.  His reply was "oh, well get him out of here as quickly as you can".  We left to have drinks together 5 hours later.

Douglas told me his tales, and I was fascinated beyond belief.  He checked into the Royal Sonesta hotel on Bourbon Street.  The Royal Sonesta is probably one of the most expesive hotels in the city, and the only 5 star hotel on Bourbon Street.  He checked into a suite.  He was arrested on his second day there for skinny dipping in the pool.  Our firm represented the Royal Sonesta so I convinced them to drop the charges, and he was released, upon the condition he not come back to the hotel.  Douglas then checked into the La Pavillion, another fine New Orleans lodging establishment.  Douglas lived there for about 4 weeks, which is how long it took all of his credit cards to max out.  His bill was nearly $100,000.00 for the month, and most of that was champagne. 

During this time, Douglas had lined up about half a dozen strippers to be in plays with him.  He booked a three week play in Birmingham, Alabama with the strippers.  I did all the legal work for the plays.  I didn't bother to run any of this stuff by the powers that be at the firm, as I knew, we weren't going to be paid, and besides, he had long since been banned from the building.  I don't think he quite understood why the firm didn't want me drinking champagne with him to celebrate his 'signing' of the lovely Melissa to play his lover in his play.  Douglas did in fact leave New Orleans with the strippers, and did play in Birmingham.  He sent me press clippings from the Birmingham News related to the plays.  For the next 6 months, Douglas directed all of his correspondence and calls to his lawyer, me.  I spoke with him on the phone every day for 6 months.  I spoke with his son, who hadn't seen his father in over a year. I spoke with his brother who told me Douglas had blown his entire inheritance.  I spoke with his lawyer friend in San Francisco.  I spoke with Douglas's ex-lovers, of which there were many, and they all still loved him.  Somehow I had become the gatekeeper.  I had no idea how to get in touch with the man, but I talked to him every day.  His lovers told me tales of his powers. His sway with the audience. His passion.  They told me about 'our time in India', 'that time in Amsterdam', 'all his lovers in St. Petersburg', 'the orgy in Naples'.  I never figured out why they wanted to tell me this stuff, but they did, and I listened.

Douglas had taken to calling me collect, because as his brother had stated, he had blown his entire inheritance.  He called me one day. He was stuck in Atlanta.  He needed to get to New York, because his guru had died.  I bought him a plane ticket.  I didn't hear from Douglas again for several weeks.  Then one day I got a call from the LaPavillion.  Douglas had a $300 bar tab that was unpaid.  He was back in town, and he directed them to his attorney.  I walked down the street and paid it.  His son called me, his dad disappeared, did I know where he was.  I told him he was in New Orleans, but I hadn't seen him.  A day later, Douglas called me, he was at the bus station in New Orleans and wanted to go home.  I went to the bus station, bought Douglas a ticket and sent him home. I never saw him again.  About a week later, Douglas sent me a Bob Dylan cd.  He knew that I had named my son after a Bob Dylan song.  I wrote Douglas a thank you letter, as his phone was disconnected, and he did not have the internet.  We then wrote letters to each other every week for about 8 months.  Beautiful letters.  I still have them.  His tales and stories were fascinating. I'm inclined to believe them, as I've talked to so many of the characters.  In January of 2007, I wrote Douglas and told him I was coming to New York for St. Patrick's Day.  I wanted him to pick the finest restaurant in the city. We were going to go, and we were going to get drunk, and we were going to get kicked out.  Because, that's what Douglas does. He gets kicked out of every place he goes to. 

About 3 days later, on January 19, 2007, I got a call from Douglas.  I hadn't spoken to him in several months. He sounded loud, gregarious, pompous.  He was in the hospital.  He was there because of his feet.  He was telling me that one of the nurses was his lover.  He called to RSVP on my St. Patrick's Day trip.  He told me he wouldn't be able to make it.  I asked him if it was a play.  He laughed, and he said no.  He calmly and plainly said, I'll be dead.  What do you mean you'll be dead?  He said, today is my birthday.  Happy Birthday wishes were given.  He told me the day was also Edgar Allan Poe's birthday.  Douglas had told me many times he was reincarnated from Edgar Allan Poe.  I didn't necessarily believe him, but I let him go on, because the story was good.  Douglas, then very clinically, but in his typical story type fashion, told me about when his guru told him, he was destined to die on his birthday. He was destined to die the day Poe was born, so that he could be reincarnated again, on the same day.  Douglas explained to me that was the order of things.  He told me he was going to die, and he was going to die that day, and he called to thank his friend.  Three hours later, after that phone call, Douglas died in his sleep.  He died of natural causes, and he was not sick, save for his feet.

About 2 months later, I got a package in the mail from one of Douglas's lovers.  It was a package of newspaper clippings.  Hundreds and hundreds of newspaper clippings.  Douglas had 'willed' them to me.  Story after story of his plays. His reviews always amazing.  The stories always ended the same.  The proceeds from the plays always went to a library, an orphanage, toys for tots or women's shelters.  I guess he gave away what was left after his 'expenses'. 

St. Patrick's Day is nearly upon us.  I was thinking today of my dinner with Douglas that never happened.  I wanted one more story.  I miss my friend.