On his 80th birthday, I wrote the following to Oliver Sacks, famed neurologist, student of human conditions, author of seminal book such as Awakenings, An Anthropologist on Mars, Migraine, Uncle Tungsten, Oaxaca Journal, Musicophilia, and other fascinating books that illustrate his knowledge and understanding of human beings.
“I remember exactly the moment our friendship was born. Not the day or the hour but the circumstances of our meeting and the feelings of wonder, gratitude, and satisfaction that I had by being bestowed such a great privilege.”
This is what happened:
I had just arrived at the restaurant one afternoon. Lunch was over, dinner had yet to start Mark Homonoff walked in and asked for me. We had never met. He came to my table, Table 10, and I invited him to sit down and asked what I could do for him. He answered:
“ There is a gentleman outside who is a great fan of yours and wonders if you would do him the honor of inscribing your book, The Food and Life of Oaxaca, for him. ”His name is Oliver Sacks.” I cried out “Honor!! Are you kidding me? Oliver Sacks!! It will be a privilege!” Mark went to get you and you walked in your tentative way, clutching my book in one hand and swinging a seat cushion with handles in the other and sat down next to me, but not before putting your cushion on the chair. We spoke about Oaxaca and your eyes sparkled and my heart swelled with deep pride as you told me about your experiences there. The Food and Life of Oaxaca is my homage to this magical state that has become my spiritual home, and its people with their fierce pride in their culture. Your Oaxaca Journal had just been published by the National Geographic and you had used my book as reference. I immediately offered to give you a party to launch the book in a big way in New York. You would invite most of the guests and I would carefully choose who of my friends I’d like to be there. I would host the party, plan the menu and the beverages. Both of us had just discovered and were falling in love with mezcal.
I remember cornering you by the upstairs door the night of the party to give you a taste of a delicious potato cake from the Isthmus of Tehuantepec that I was serving with a sauce of roasted tomatillo, smoked chile pasilla chile, and worms! I remember still your boyish grin when you asked with glee “Are we eating worms?” I said: “ We are. Shall we tell the others?” You responded in a conspiratorial, solemn tone of voice. “I think we’d best keep it to ourselves.” We both laughed with our whole bodies. Milton Glaser was observing the scene and smiled warmly, a smile that came from his heart to his eyes to his mouth or vice versa. It is a moment I will never forget.
On this your 80th birthday, I want to thank you for worrying and caring for me the way you do. It means a lot to me that you always show up for all my special occasions and invite me to share yours. I cherish your friendship and feel blessed indeed.
Zarela
Oliver was the first person I called when I got my diagnosis of Parkinson’s Disease. He rushed over to my home and demonstrated physically the different stages of this progressive condition — the shuffling, slow walk, freezing, hunched over position. I told him that I would never allow that to happen to me. that I would “kick this shit.” He watched me take the bull by the horns and do everything to slow down the progression and control the symptoms. as best I have. He glowed with pleasure when he watched me move fluidly when we’d be at an event together and I could tell that he was delighted by my resolve. He’d come to most of my parties and I arranged some special ones to please him. He loved to eat and had, in fact, been quite heavy at one time and watched his calories
I made him a Peruvian meal when he came back from Peru, backyard lunches when I’d include only one or two people I knew he’d enjoy and be relaxed. Always helpful was KAte Edgar, his “angel”, right hand, friend of his soul. Oliver was very shy but when he opened up it was as if pearls were coming from within–every word so carefully considered. He possessed immense knowledge about most everything and it had to be condensed into understandable terms for us the not-so- brilliant.
Oliver was not a touchy-feely person but the kindness of his look and the way he listened made me feel as if I was in a warm embrace. Sometimes he’d pat me on the head when I was leaving!
And he had a tremendous sense of humor. My favorite story took place when he was a child and someone asked him:”And what do you like, little boy?. Oliver answered “I like smoked salmon and Bach!”
One Sunday I happened to read a review of Norman Doidge’s ground-breaking book about the plasticity of the brain, The Brain that Changes Itself, with a glowing quote from Oliver. I bought the book, loved it, contacted Norman and told him, that based on Oliver’s recommendion, I would buy thirty books if he would agree to sign them. We invited him and his wife for dinner. We had a great time, long interesting conversations, and went back home to continue the party. It was then that I discovered that he and Oliver had never met. Aha! Another party in the making! Suddenly there was another great occasion for a special dinner at our home. The guests would be Dr, James J. Watson of Watson and Crick DNA fame, and his adorable wife Liz, Kathleen Turner, Jamie Gillis, Oliver Sacks, and Norman Doidge and his wife. What fun! What a memorable evening!
Knowing his love of mezcal. I invited Oliver to a grand tasting organized for the Mezcal Growers of Oaxaca by Yira Vallejo, now of the exquisite Pierde Almas brand. (I credit Yira for putting mezcal on the map…Well, after Ron Cooper, the man!) In his methodical way, Oliver went from one mezcal stand to the other asking questions, trying to determine what gave each brand its distinct flavor. He was not finished when I left but I heard that when he got home he had eight bottles of mezcal with him.
The most difficult things to part with when Harvard’s Schlesinger Library acquired my papers in 2013 were Oliver’s letters to me but I still have this relatively recent letter and his sweet inscriptions in all his books, such as these two. (I don’t understand the use of diffidence but sense that it is something like respect.) They tell the story of our friendship but most of all I guard the memories of happy times we shared and difficult times that he helped me through. I will miss you dearly loving friend.
PS: This has been very difficult piece for me to write and it is not complete. I had to put something up on this special holiday.
Here is a very important letter I just found
