I was sorry to hear of his passing. He wasn't just a billionaire humanitarian, supporting the arts on a large scale and from a great height. He was also a man who wrote lengthy, remarkably clever fan letters to obscure poets like myself. By snail mail, no less. On the most beautiful paper I've ever seen. This was a few years ago. I remember googling his name to discover who on earth he could be. I remember following the public trail of an eccentric, private mind, and marveling. A couple of years ago his daughter, Julia, directed a PBS documentary about him. Well worth seeing. If I can locate it online, I'll link to it.
He'd seen my work in The New Criterion, and reached out on a whim. To the whim, and the whirl, and the ripples left behind. Good night, strange prince.
William Louis Dreyfus Dies
It's strange, The way that people pick puppies. In a cardboard box Off to the side of the road On a whim Instantly form...
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