Wendy and the Lost Boys

by Julie Salamon

  Georgette felt that her mother’s death began the day Wendy died. “My mother died of a broken heart,” she said.

  The postscript to Wendy’s life contained strange twists of fate and unexpected reconciliations, the kind she might have written.

  Georgette, having become Abner’s guardian, reunited with her brother after more than fifty years and began to see him a few times a year. The familial embrace of the long-lost brother and uncle extended to the next generations. Three years after Wendy died, Abner came to New York with a group from Rochester to watch a Yankees game. An aide took him to a restaurant on the Upper East Side to meet members of his family who had been strangers—Bruce’s daughter, Pam, and Georgette’s daughters, Tajlei and Melissa, along with Tajlei’s son, Theo. Within two years, Abner died at age seventy.

  As for Lucy Jane, she went to live with Bruce and Claude, whom she called Mommy and Daddy. Claude oversaw the delicate transition, trying to respect Wendy’s wishes while doing what she felt was best for Lucy. She fired Emmy, Lucy’s nanny, and then tried to manage the many friends of Wendy who wanted to be close to her daughter.

  Claude knew that some were upset by the limits she placed on visits, but she couldn’t worry about the adults. “I had a house afire,” she said. “I was putting out fires. You prioritize. Triage. I was doing what was best for this little girl. I’m sure they’ve had a big adjustment. I know they’ve had their issues. But at the end of the day, that’s not what Wendy picked. At the end of the day, she picked me and my values. She picked me and Bruce. We were a family.”

  They were a family and then they weren’t. In December 2008, Bruce and Claude divorced. A month later he remarried. Eight months after that, Bruce Wasserstein died at age sixty-one of heart failure; the exact cause was kept private, in keeping with his lifelong practice.

  Bruce’s memorial service, like Wendy’s, took place at the Vivian Beaumont Theater. Thirty-one-year-old Pamela arranged for her father’s favorite song to be sung—“Some Enchanted Evening,” from South Pacific.

  Two young actors, Jeremy Strong, Wendy’s former assistant, and Lily Rabe, performed a scene from Miami.

  Three of Bruce’s four wives were there, along with his children, among them Lucy Jane, who stood onstage with her five siblings, who were also her cousins.

  This was the family Wendy bequeathed her daughter.

  Would Wendy have chosen Claude and Bruce had she known all that was going to happen to them? Claude didn’t know.

  “All I know is that this kid calls me Mommy now, and I’m going to do my best by her,” Claude said. “We are a family. A different kind of family.”

  Claude kept a scrapbook containing the many letters people wrote to Lucy after Wendy died, a continuation of the writer’s ongoing chronicle of her life and times. One day Lucy would want to know all about the uncommon woman who was her mother.

  Until the very end, Wendy Wasserstein took comfort in being part of a larger entity, the self-defined generation that had created a unified consciousness from a mass-marketed set of cultural references. Among Wendy’s last works was an essay called “Baby Boomers,” published in The World Almanac and Book of Facts 2004, in which she addressed the hubris of the Peter Pan generation.

  “The thing about being a baby boomer is, somewhere we still believe that no one is going to do it better than we did,” she wrote. “No one will be better than The Beatles, no one will be more glamorous than Jack Kennedy, no time will be as turbulent as the late 60s, no parents will be as difficult as ours were, and no psyches will be as interesting as ours.”

  She continued to aim for immortality, even as she mocked her own desire. “Because boomers came of age in a world fascinated by them, and partially created for them, we are often not the most cooperative when it comes to aging,” she wrote. “We are, in fact, at the forefront of not just aging gracefully, but not aging at all. Against all odds, we will hold back the hands of time.”

  As Wendy wrote those words, she must have sensed that the clock was ticking; she was already desperately ill. She never grew old, but she lived long enough to watch her generation begin to fossilize, guarding its accumulated memories and possessions, asserting its historical preeminence as fiercely as every generation that had come before. Even as a child, it seems, she had understood that all relationships, ambitions, politics, hopes, worries, pains, ruminations, and dramatizations could command passionate attention one day and then vanish the next. Every bright, shining beacon would be extinguished and replaced, the same as tyrants and fools. But she was a gentle social critic, clarifying the pretensions of her peers and expressing frustration at their hypocrisies and self-deceptions while showing tender appreciation for their frailties and conveying genuine empathy for the desire and uncertainty that made them human. That was her gift to the world she tried to make her own.

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  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  My research began less than two years after Wasserstein’s death. Almost every interview—even with those who knew the playwright only professionally or casually—was punctuated by moments of intense emotion. It was evident that Wasserstein’s life and death had touched something primal in a great many people. Far more complicated, but endlessly fascinating, was the journey to understanding the unusual woman who created such a strong sense of connection with friends and strangers.

  Untangling Wendy Wasserstein’s story required constant triangulation between her dramatic interpretations of her life and times (her plays, screenplays, unpublished stories, and novel); her “nonfiction” essays; and everything else—print and recorded interviews, reviews, and articles about her and her work, journals, letters, and my own interviews with almost three hundred people, including close family members and dozens of “best friends.”

  Unless otherwise indicated in the endnotes or the text, direct quotations came from these interviews, which also provided much valuable context, as did the books listed in the bibliography. Other information came from public records, video and audio recordings of speeches, and documents provided by friends and family, as well as Wasserstein’s private papers, which she donated to Mount Holyoke College.

  I can’t overemphasize the importance of the material at Mount Holyoke, which includes not only Wasserstein’s papers but all kinds of references pertaining to her career and student days. This huge trove has been beautifully organized by Jennifer Gunter King, head of Archives and Special Collections, and Patricia Albright, Archives Librarian, to whom I owe deepest gratitude and affection for their guidance and moral support throughout.

  I thank everyone who helped me, with a special category of appreciation reserved for André Bishop and Christopher Durang, Wasserstein’s literary executors. They were endlessly patient, sitting through hours and hours of interviews, indulging repeated follow-up questions via telephone, e-mail, lunches, and breakfasts. In addition to providing their invaluable memories and insights, their endorsement opened many crucial doors.

  The Wasserstein and Schleifer families couldn’t have been more gracious. Special thanks to the late Bruce Wasserstein, Pamela Wasserstein, Georgette Levis, Samantha Schweitzer, Jenifer Brooks, Claude Wasserstein, Tajlei Levis, Melissa Levis, Christine Wasserstein Rattiner, and Lynne Killin—as well as the many other relatives who spoke to me. I also want to acknowledge Ben and Scoop Wasserstein, who will become literary trustees for the Wendy Wasserstein estate as they each turn thirty years old, and Lucy Wasserstein, who will join them in that role when she turns twenty-one.

  The MacDowell Colony offered me the exquisite opportunity to complete a portion of the book in the same studio where Wendy Wasserstein stayed when she was writing Third. It was inspiring to be among so many talented people at the Colony, including some excellent Ping-Pong players!

  Julia Judge, artistic administrator at Lincoln Center Theater, fielded my barrage of requests with grace and efficiency. Sarah Geller provided much-valued research assistance, tracking down birth, death, an
d school records, as well as census and immigration information and other more arcane matters.

  I won’t list every person I talked to for the biography because some preferred to remain anonymous and because I worry about omitting someone from a list that appears all-inclusive. Likewise, apologies go to those whose insightful stories weren’t included for reasons of space and narrative cohesion.

  Some of Wasserstein’s friends and assistants offered far more than a single interview, but also photographs, introductions, letters, helpful documents, and the willingness to be approached time and again. In this category I include: Jenny Lyn Bader, Michael Barakiva, Susan Blatt, Rhoda Brooks, Betsy Carter, Emmy Casamassino, Ken Cassillo, Anne Cattaneo, Aimee Garn, Susan Gordis, Cathy Graham, Stephen Graham, Roy Harris, Ruth Karl Julian, James Kaplan, James Lapine, William Ivey Long, Mary Jane Patrone, Ilene Rapkin, Frank Rich, Jane Rosenthal, Betsy Ross, Clifford Ross, Paul Rudnick, Harriet Sachs, Peter Schweitzer, Abigail Stewart, Jeremy Strong, Daniel Sullivan, Cindy Tolan, Angela Trento, Alex Witchel.

  Special thanks to the late Adele Janovsky and to Christine Kondoleon, Stephen Soba, and Victoria Wilson.

  One of Wendy Wasserstein’s proudest accomplishments was establishing the Theatre Development Fund’s Open Doors mentoring program with Roy Harris. Much appreciation to Marianna Houston and Patricia Bruno for their help and for the great work they do introducing high school students to the theater.

  Many friends have humored my obsessions and helped me through rough patches, literary and otherwise. For various forms of sustenance throughout this project, I thank Megan Barnett, Marsha Berkowitz, Angela Botto, Delois Byrd, Bobby Cohen, Madeline DeLone, Brian De Palma, Charlie Durfee, Sally Fischer, Danny Gregory, Jack Tea Gregory, Matthew Grosek, Trish Hall, Noelle Hannon, Wayne Kabak, Barry Kramer, Sara Krulwich, Alison Lisnow, Johan Mantijano, Wendy Miller, Lynn Paltrow, Muzzy Rosenblatt, Jennifer Oddleifson, Susan Merlucci Reno, Andrew Tatarsky, Ann Temkin, Marcy Wilkov, and Zahra Zubaidi.

  My agent of twenty-five years, Kathy Robbins, never fails to offer smart advice and timely encouragement, as well as providing the excellent help of Rebecca Anders, Mike Gillespie, David Halpern, and Ian King in the Robbins Office.

  This is my fifth book with Ann Godoff, a brilliant contrarian who defies the much-repeated notion that great editors don’t exist anymore. It’s been a pleasure to work on this biography with her and with Lindsay Whalen, who has impeccable instincts. I am grateful for the top-notch professional care the book has received from Liz Calamari, Jane Cavolina, Darren Haggar, Michelle McMillian, Benjamin Platt, Maureen Sugden, Veronica Windholz, and Jaime Wolf.

  Thanks to Szimi Salcman and Suzanne Salamon for everything essential, beginning with our morning chats. From Patti Gregory, Samuel Reiner, and Arthur Salcman I received gifts I can never repay, nor will I ever forget.

  Above all, for editorial guidance, laughter, music, solace, perspective, and love, I always come home, to Bill, Roxie, and Eli.

  ILLUSTRATION PERMISSIONS

  Title page photo by Joanna Eldredge Morrissey

  Chapters One and Two: Courtesy of the Wasserstein family

  Chapter Three: Courtesy of The Calhoun School

  Chapter Four: Courtesy of Mount Holyoke College Alumnae Association

  Chapter Five: Courtesy of Mount Holyoke College Archives and Special Collections

  Chapter Six: Courtesy of the Wasserstein family

  Chapter Seven: Courtesy of the Yale Repertory Theatre, photograph by William Baker

  Chapter Eight: Courtesy of Playwrights Horizons

  Chapter Nine: Eugene O’Neill Theater Center, A. Vincent Scarano

  Chapter Ten: Photofest, Inc.

  Chapter Eleven: Courtesy of James Lapine

  Chapter Twelve: Courtesy of André Bishop; Playwrights Horizons group photo, © Jack Mitchell

  Chapter Thirteen: Courtesy of the Wasserstein family

  Chapter Fourteen: Courtesy of André Bishop

  Chapter Fifteen: Courtesy of the Wasserstein family

  Chapter Sixteen: Courtesy of Christopher Durang, Photo by John Augustine

  Chapter Seventeen: Courtesy of William Ivey Long

  Chapter Eighteen: Poster design by James McMullan

  Chapter Nineteen: Wendy and Terrence McNally, © Marianne Barcellona; Bruce and Claude Becker Wasserstein, Courtesy of Claude Wasserstein; Wendy and Rhoda Brooks, Courtesy of Rhoda Brooks

  Chapter Twenty: Sara Krulwich/The New York Times

  Chapter Twenty-One: Courtesy of Ken Cassillo

  Chapter Twenty-Two: Joanna Eldredge Morrissey

  Chapter Twenty-Three: © Joan Marcus

  Chapter Twenty-Four: Courtesy of Claude Wasserstein

  NOTES

  xi. Epigraph from J. M. Barrie, Peter Pan (New York, Barnes & Noble, 2007).

  Prologue

  3. named for Peter’s beloved friend, Wendy Darling: Wasserstein: “Three Sisters,” in Shiksa Goddess (New York: Knopf, 2001), 65.

  One: The Family Wasserstein

  9. “a sisterly tour”: Wasserstein, “Poles Apart,” Shiksa Goddess, 159. Subsequent references to the trip by Wendy in this chapter come from this same chapter, 159–64, adapted from an article originally published in Harper’s Bazaar.

  11. Background on Wloclawek: www.jewishvirtuallibrary.org/jsource/judaica/edjud.

  12. Snapshot of Ciechocinek: www.polandforvisitors.com/poland/baltic_spas_ciechocinek.

  13. Picture of Jews in Poland: Lucy Davidovicz, The War Against the Jews, 1933–1945 (New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1975), 396.

  13. Great Migration: Irving Howe, World of Our Fathers (New York: Harcourt, Brace Jovanovich, 1976), 26.

  14. “She had this reel of stories”: Tajlei Levis, interview with author, May 20, 2009.

  21. The answer was yes: Samantha Schweitzer, Sandra’s younger daughter, interview with author, May 7, 2009.

  23. Unable to make friends: Ibid.

  Two: A Brooklyn Childhood, 1950-63

  28. Paul Cowan, “The Merger Maestro,” Esquire, May 1984, 58.

  31. Wasserstein, “Aunt Florence’s Bar Mitzvah,” from Bachelor Girls (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1990), 45–46.

  32. Wasserstein, “The Muse That Meowed,” Shiksa Goddess, 123.

  34. Lüchow’s story, from Wasserstein, “My Mother, Then and NOW, ” Bachelor Girls, 18.

  36. Background on Yeshivah of Flatbush from Yeshivah of Flatbush Golden Jubilee Commemorative Volume (Brooklyn, NY: Yeshivah of Flatbush, 1977).

  37. Wendy was a smart little girl: “The State of the Arts,” Shiksa Goddess, 149.

  38. “running away from myself”: From undated letter (circa 1978) to Aimee Garn, a friend of Wendy’s.

  39. Wendy’s recollections of Sandy’s wedding: From “Don’t Tell Mother,” Shiksa Goddess, 79.

  41. Expresso Bongo story: Ibid., 84.

  45. Cohen bar mitzvah story: Wasserstein, “My Mother, Then and NOW,” Bachelor Girls, 17.

  Three: A Girl’s Education, 1963-67

  49. Ilene Goldsmith became Ilene Rapkin after marriage. These recollections came from interview with author, June 9, 2009.

  50. For Wendy’s thirteenth birthday: From “Bachelor Girl,” introductory essay, Bachelor Girls, 3–4.

  51. Wendy on Doris Day: Ibid., 7.

  51. “I never thought of myself as undesirable”: Interview with Laurie Winer, Paris Review, no. 14, Spring 1997, 7.

  53. “They drove an hour to Cookys”: “Ah, That First Feat in Wild Manhattan,” Shiksa Goddess, 166.

  53. “I was on an escalator in B. Altman’s”: Wendy Wasserstein, “Baby Boomers,” World Almanac and Book of Facts 2004, Oct. 2003.

  54. “Wendy would always write her papers on time”: Ann-Ellen Lesser, telephone interview with author, Mar. 19, 2009.

  55. From “Reflections of a Calhounder,” a speech Wendy Wasserstein gave at the Calhoun School in Oct. 2004, at the dedication of a new arts center. The speech is posted on the school’s Web site, at www.calhoun.
org/page.cfm?p=888.

  Four: Gracious Living, 1967-68

  68. “This is where you can take sports”: Anne Betteridge, a Mount Holyoke classmate, telephone interview with author, Feb. 21, 2010.

  Five: Great Expectations, 1968-71

  87. “an incredible hottie”: Henry Goldman, Amherst classmate, telephone interview with author, July 23, 2009.

  Seven: Drama Kings and Queens, 1973-76

  122. “Albert was a close friend”: Weaver was from a prominent show-business family. Her father, Sylvester “Pat” Weaver, was an advertising executive who became president of NBC. Weaver became known for her intelligent portrayals on the stage and screen, and her attraction to quirky roles, but she grew very famous as an unlikely action hero in science-fiction films, most notably Alien and its sequels and Avatar, which in 2010 became the highest-grossing movie in history.

  122. “The Idiots Karamazov hammered away at the most beloved works”: Robert Brustein, Making Scenes: A Personal History of the Turbulent Years at Yale 1966–1979 (New York: First Limelight Edition, New York, 1984), 188. Originally published in 1981 by Proscenium.

  129. “Streep it up”: William Ivey Long, interview with author, Aug. 5, 2009.

  129. “The competition in the acting program”: Andrea Stevens, “Theater: Getting Personal About Yale’s Drama School,” New York Times, Nov. 12, 2000.

  134. terror of becoming pregnant: Ruth Karl, telephone interview with author, July 21, 2009.

  134. “a personal undertow”: Nancy Franklin, “The Time of Her Life,” the New Yorker, Apr. 14, 1997, 62.

  Eight: A Playwright’s Horizons, 1976-77

  142. Theodore Gross, “Will Bob Moss Become the Next Joe Papp?” Village Voice, Nov. 1, 1976.

  144. Edith Oliver, the New Yorker, May 24, 1976.