THB #374: Friedkin (1935-2023- )

I’ve been loathe to write personal reflections about artists who have died in this space. I hate the feeling of competition for who loved the deceased most, who understood them best, who appreciated the work the most.

I’m not criticizing people for sharing. Most of the memories that get offered are good or great… but still, there is something about those first few days. It happens at funerals too. The joy of sharing stories about someone you loved with people who loved that person runs into the weirdness of everyone having to have a story… the best story… the most unhappiness… etc.

I’m susceptible as anyone (and very aware of how many paragraphs here are starting with “I”). William Friedkin and I spent about 18 months in one another’s regular circle of awareness. Since then, occasional connections. I never called him “William” once. But calling him “Billy” in print feels creepy… like I am trying to prove my intimacy. (I’m getting over it.)

I have always been hyper-aware about calling p…