There were a couple of weeks or period of days last summer when it seemed as if a large number of well-known people suddenly died. That has happened again, here in New York, on a somewhat smaller scale, in the past couple of weeks. Late last week, the great Thomas Hoving died at age 78 from lung cancer.
Mr. Hoving was an outspoken showman connoisseur. He had the common touch for those things which brought out the king in all of us.
It could be argued that both the Met and Central Park today are what they are to the people (not necessarily to the curators, art historians, etc., I know) because of Tom Hoving. He was the Piped Piper with the intellect to open our imagination.
I didn’t know him but I ran into him a couple of times and introduced myself so that I could partake of his unique intellectual charm. I last saw him at Georgette Mosbacher’s book party for Michael Gross and his “Rogues Gallery” biography of the Metropolitan Museum. He was tall man, with a bright yet bemused personality. I asked him what he thought of the book. He said he thought Michael had pretty much got it right. I asked him what he thought of his portrait in the book. He said, “Well, I come off like an asshole, but then I am an asshole.” And he laughed. And I laughed. I vote for him.
Businessman Victor Shafferman died at 68 of pancreatic cancer; financial guru and mutual fund manager Christopher Browne died suddenly last Sunday of a heart attack, and Faith Geier died suddenly on Tuesday in her Gracie Square apartment.
All three were very active in New York life, and although none were celebrities, all were very prominent with their hand in many New York organizations and philanthropy.
Victor Shafferman was Swiss born and raised in Canada. He’s maintained a residence here in New York for many years, and as long as I’ve known him, he has lived at 973 Fifth Avenue, the limestone Stanford White townhouse once owned by Oliver Payne, the under who built the adjacent house (now the French cultural center) for his nephew Payne Whitney and his wife Helen Hay).
Victor was very European in his sensibility, a highly intelligent man who enjoyed conversation especially on levels of economics, politics and history, and who transported himself around town in an extra large maroon and black Rolls Royce limousine with liveried chauffeur.
Although he enjoyed the social life, Victor was unimpressed by celebrity and in no way associated with it. I was never certain of the roots of his obvious great fortune although he was said to be a descendant of the founders of Ciba-Geigy. He was also, at times, a major real estate owner in New York, and in the past several years had been actively involved in the restoration of Carrere and Hastings designed Blairsden, the 38-room Louis XIII style mansion on 50 acres in Peapack-Gladstone, New Jersey built in 1898 by Wall Street banker C. Ledyard Blair.
Victor was a man who liked being somewhat under the radar but connected to the center of things. His Fifth Avenue mansion was filled with priceless 18th century furniture and decorative objects but he rarely entertained. He was a frequent guest at the major charity and cultural events but steered clear of the limelight.
He was for many years, a lone man on the scene although less than a decade ago he met a man somewhat younger than himself with whom he struck up a solid domestic relationship. Philip, that man, survives him.
Christopher Browne, who died suddenly of a heart attack at age 63 last Sunday night, had some things in common with Victor Shafferman. He too was very active in New York philanthropic life and the financial world. A prominent Wall Street fund manager (Tweedy Browne, founded by his father who was broker for early Warren Buffett and for Wall St/investment guru Benjamin Graham), Chris was the man who was an investor in Hollinger International, the Conrad Black publishing entity that went awry with Lord Black’s management.
It was Chris who looking at the annual reports first noticed the anomalies of expenditures that favored Lord Black over the stockholders. It was he who brought the matter to bear on Lord Black’s business conduct.
Like Victor Shafferman, I did not know him well, but I saw him from time to time. He was a big supporter of the Nature Conservancy and loved acquiring property and building something beautiful on it. About twelve years ago, he paid what was then a record price for an oceanfront property in East Hampton -- $13 million and allowed the seller to remain in residence for several years thereafter because he, Chris Browne, wasn’t ready to put it to use.
Also like Victor Shafferman, he was a single man of a certain age who, several years ago met a man of a younger age with whom he struck up a solid domestic relationship. In Browne’s life the man was Andrew, an architecture who shared many of Chris Browne’s passions for architecture, landscape and garden design, environment and conservancy. When I ran into Chris a couple of weeks ago at the North Carolinian’s party at Richard Jenrette’s house, I asked him what he and Andrew were doing next. A new project. Some kind of house. I remember most the look of complete enthusiasm, like the kid with the new electric train. I was thinking, knowing him, it will be a work of art.
Faith Geier was a friend and neighbor. I wrote about her husband Phil’s book party last week at the Four Seasons restaurant. I took a picture of Faith. Faith had an interesting intense personality. She had a way of seeming slightly distracted while intensely pursuing her curiosity. That probably doesn’t make sense. She was a very friendly neighbor, always asking questions about what I’d seen or heard or knew about the neighborhood. She loved living on the river.
A couple of years ago her husband, the advertising magnate, Phil, had a heart transplant. Faith was in a celebratory mood. She talked about this triumph like a kid who’d just experienced a miracle. Just about this time every year, the Geiers had a family tradition of going down to Greenbrier for the holiday. It was more complicated than that, but what I remember most is Faith’s explaining to me how she and her husband and their children and their children’s children had this annual Christmas tradition.
I have no idea what that could be like but I had in my mind the image of three generations of a family together, away from their own homes and celebrating their togetherness. I may be an idealist, but knowing Faith, I know that’s what it was for her, and probably everybody else.
She died suddenly on Tuesday. Her housekeeper found her in the bathroom. It was an aneuryism. She was in perfect health. Or so it seemed. She was my neighbor. Very friendly. Warm. Dashing off to hail a cab. Returning; always inquiring. I shall miss her.
This continues to be holiday cocktail party week. There seem to be more this year than before. I’ve been remiss in covering many mainly because I’m in constant distraction at this time of the year. When everything in New York is about to come to a week’s respite. You can feel that energy starting to roll into our daily lives. What all these parties mean, however, is that people are making the effort to “get together.” This is a palliative and common sense whenever possible. There’s still merry to be had. |
