Oh, sweet Gary Indiana. Oh, Gary the man who would captivate one with his writings. Honest, powerful, and bold. Who would hypnotize one at his readings. Who would make one roll with laughter as he spoke about NYC and his experiences. He, who was a guiding light, a fearless storyteller, a NYC icon. I met Gary because he would come by the book table that I set up on Ave A, and we would chat about different things: books, NYC’s metamorphosis, and daily occurrences. Gary was always saying that we should bring back the drug dealers, the prostitutes, and the working-class men and women. Bring back the grit. Gary lived through it, arriving in NYC in the late 70s. He said that these were people who could scare this yuppie suburban class, who now dominated Manhattan, out of the city. We could take it back for ourselves. The streets could finally be returned to the lost, the forgotten, the misunderstood, the working families, the artist. Gary also liked to talk about his favorite hospital, Beth Israel. It was my favorite one as well. It was right above the East Village on 16th and 2nd Ave. We would joke that you could get the fastest service there and the nicest nurses because it had fallen by the wayside. It had become one of the abandoned. A forgotten gem. We would laugh at its glory, at the glory that it seemed like it existed just for us and all our bodily malfunctions. Unfortunately, Beth Israel closed its doors just last week, and Gary Indiana died just last year. Gary, a colossal loss to NYC.
Gary was an inspiration. He was righteous. He is a reminder that you have to take risks, that you have to be honest and brave with who you are because that is how Gary was. I have always said that I never live with any regrets. That all the risks I have taken, both good and bad, have always informed me, have always taught me lessons. I must confess: I do have one and only one regret. It involves Gary. In 2021, I was leaving the Printed Matter Art Book Fair in NYC where I had been selling books all day. I was carrying bags full of books, at least 100 pounds of extra weight. (Not to mention earlier in the day, I left halfway through to get a root canal at the NYU dental school down the street AND afterwards returned to finish out the day at the fair.) To say the least, exhaustion overwhelmed me. I saw Gary on the side of the road waving down a cab and he looked at me and asked if I would like to hop in with him. He was going south. I was headed north. I replied, "No," in exhaustion. At that moment, I was in a frenzy to get home, to end the day. Honestly, the regret happened immediately. As soon as the door closed and as I watched the taxi drive south, I knew I would regret that decision forever. And I do. This was the last time I saw Gary alive. I still think about what Gary and I would’ve talked about or laughed about in that taxi, but this memory also reminds me to always seize the moment, to always follow love. May Gary live forever in our hearts.
-Jen Fisher