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Stanley called George and George rushed over to Cedars—I felt numb, and the feelings kept creeping in…. I touched his face and said “goodbye” and “Andy, I love you.” My love is so strong for him. Andy was a unique, wonderful, loving person. He fought until his last breath. I’m so proud to have been his friend. He was a treasure in my life. He stood up bravely for what he believed in as a performer and as a person. He was kind and generous and above all human…. I’m so fortunate to have known him.

Zmuda, meanwhile, had gone home from the hospital early that morning and slept all day and woke to hear from Linda two hours after his friend departed. And thus he came late. Which was what Andy had always done, which was, um, fine.

And then the people heard and then the people laughed.

And he could not tell them no really.

And it was almost better that way.

Because no one knew what to believe.

And so he won.

He went back to Great Neck to the Temple Beth-El, where the Rabbi Davidson memorialized milk and cookies and his brother spoke of being fortunate enough to have been the only person in the world who had gotten to be his brother and loved ones wept and also smiled and then he himself sang “This Friendly World” on a tape and people quietly sang along and/or cried along and a local Elvis Presley fan club stood vigil outside. He wore Daddy’s old sport coat, which was his now anyway, and he wore no tie because he never wore ties and he went back to the cemetery to be with Papu Cy and Grandma Pearl and Grandpa Paul and to lie next to where Mommy would come later. The stone above him, when it got there, would say that he was a beloved son and brother and grandson and it would also say WE LOVE YOU VERY MUCH and there would be serious discussions beforehand regarding the spelling of very about which he would have been thankful.

Dec. 16, 1963

THE EXTREME SUCCESS:

Mr. X was a failure so far,

but hadn’t had a chance yet,

for he had just started.

Mr. X is a playwrite;

Mr. X is a poet.

Mr. X is both.

He wrote a poem,

and put it in his play.

It got to be promoted.

And it got to be produced.

It was opening night.

Mr. X was very happy.

With all his friends to come and see,

the stage with actors,

the theater sold out.

It was the largest success

of plays that played.

At end, they called him up.

He then took a bow.

The applause was almost deafening,

and Mr. X went off.

He put his hand in his pocket,

and took out his gun.

He had the broadest smile of anyone,

as he shot into his head.

He was Dead!

Here was a gauntlet thrown and a madness born—to sort and sift through a life of fantasy, but also a life on earth, and locate truths wherever truths had been sent to hide. The sizable task was made navigable due only to the kindnesses and generosities (and sublime patience) of those who truly knew him and deeply loved him. Primarily, there could be no intimacy with subject were it not for his family and those who became his family:

My debt looms most profound for the miraculous nuclear unit members who trusted to share the private wonder of Andrew Geoffrey Kaufman with biographer and world—Stanley L. Kaufman and Michael Kaufman and Carol Kaufman Kerman, each of whom carry the pieces that keep him alive. Then, too, there is the redoubtable George Shapiro, spontaneous diarist/poet, who championed a life and a life story (worth telling and retelling). Those who were peerless compasses throughout the process: Linda Mitchell, Gregg Sutton, Lynne Margulies, Wendy Polland, Kathy Utman, Dennis Raimondi, Mel Sherer, Beverly Cholakian Block, Gloria Acre Schwartz, and, of course, Bob Zmuda.

The author wishes to thank the following for their memories, observations, ideas and time, all of which helped to piece together the lovely puzzle:

The Great Neck Years: Rabbi Jerome Davidson, Cathy Bernard, Moogie Klingman, Richard Corey, Marilyn Blumberg Cane, Jim Krieger, Charley Wininger, Rick Etra, Gina Acre, Gloria Greenberg, Gil Gevins, Ginger Petrochko,