(C) Daily Kos This story was originally published by Daily Kos and is unaltered. . . . . . . . . . . R.I.P., Michael A. Hardy, Esq. [1] ['This Content Is Not Subject To Review Daily Kos Staff Prior To Publication.'] Date: 2024-07-24 I’ll never forget how his eyes lit up when I entered the Surgical ICU at the Hospital. It had been less than a month since the our last embrace, when Michael took me to see Cabaret with Eddie Redmayne and Gayle Rankin, but those weeks were brutal for him. In spite of barely being able to walk or speak, he continued to go to work with Reverend Al Sharpton at National Action Network, confiding in me that if he “didn't go to work they’d be calling me anyway.” He missed their last rally at the end of June, insisting on Home Care, but when his birthday, then July 4th, passed without our customary celebration together, I realized that our self-generated optimism about his recovery was a pipe dream. He finally acquiesced to presenting at the Hospital’s ER a week ago, but I was prevented from visiting right away by a mishap of my own, involving a handful of laundry, a door jamb and an errant throw rug. Even though Lenox Health’s ER cleared me for release after CT scans and x-rays, I had to wait a few days for the swelling to abate before I could see with both eyes. Face planting on the subway’s steel edged staircase due to lack of depth perception would have been a well below average experience… don’t ask me how I know this. I shouldn’t have waited. I realized later that, even half blind, another day, hour or MINUTE with Michael would have been better, but I did arrive at a moment in our nation’s history that gave his eyes a brighter gleam: President Biden had just stepped away from his candidacy. I’d already received that news in a text from another Carleton College alumnus, BT, halfway across Central Park as I walked from the Subway to the Hospital and I responded with my location; so they would know where to search for my bloated corpse in the nearby Onassis Reservoir. Seething with anger at this turn of events and repeating Chuck Heston’s last lines from Planet Of The Apes, I was genuinely astonished by the optimism I encountered in the small cubbyhole of the SICU, and it wasn’t because my friends agreed with the Nattering Nabobs who’d been spewing their treacherous bile since the First Debate. Au contraire, mes vieux- the Debbie Downers all seemed to be rallying in universal support of President Biden’s choice of Kamala Harris as his successor. A miracle was present in the SICU! Oh, how I wish that miracle had extended its grasp to embrace the withered form of the kind and generous soul who was gasping for breath in our midst… Michael didn’t intend to go into Law- he had an interest in Drama, and that was our common ground at Carleton. There was a beautiful Arena Stage there, but no credits were offered for performance- only for studying Drama in the context of Literature. I wouldn’t say we were close friends, as he was a year ahead of me, but we ran in the same circles, so when we both ended up in the East Village in the late 70s he reached out to me because he was the box office manager at La MaMa. They were casting The Birds in a new adaptation by Walter Kerr and were seeking all types of performers to fill out The Chorus surrounding their Principal Actors, H M Katoukas and Irving Metzman. Another Carleton Alumnus was cast along with me, Babi Floyd, and he was good friends with Michael, so we all became companions on our journeys on Life’s Road, along with BT, who’d redirected his own artist dreams, graduated from Columbia School of Architecture and was a model maker for Skidmore, Owings and Merrill. Michael even slept on my couch for a spell as he was seeking new lodgings after losing his apartment across the street from La MaMa. Our paths diverged in 1982, when I moved to LA to sell my soul in Hollywood, while Michael gave up his acting career in favor of a few different pursuits, finally settling on a JD from CUNY in 1988. He was instrumental in the founding of National Action Network in 1991, along with Reverend Al Sharpton and Eric Adams, and soon became their General Counsel. His competent and articulate manner helped repair the loss of credibility Reverend Sharpton suffered as a result of the Tawana Brawley case, and he was “a legal architect behind some of the most important Civil Rights cases of our time.” (quote: Reverend Al Sharpton). In spite of his prominence as a Justice Warrior, Michael never lost his passion for Theater, and we often attended together on my trips to NYC, which became more frequent when my daughter enrolled at NYU. He had amazing connections, as well: Reverend Al’s daughter is friends with the granddaughter of George Steinbrenner, so we sat in the Owner’s Box at Yankee Stadium for a game. When my son turned 17, I noticed the Yankees were in LA at Dodger Stadium that weekend and jokingly mentioned it to Michael, who got tickets for us, BT and his Partner included, and flew out for the occasion as well. When National Action Network hosted a luncheon for Kamala Harris last year, I happened to be in NYC and was invited, though I couldn’t attend due to health issues. I’m still kicking myself for that bit of misfortune… Which brings us back to the celebratory nature of the mood at the Hospital’s SICU. Michael joined the celebration, grabbing my Aviator shades and donning them for a Dark Brandon photo op- the last photo made of him. I guess our mirth was a bit too raucous, as a Nurse burst in to remind us there is a limit of 2 visitors, and we were a party of 4. BT and his Partner agreed to depart, as they had been there off and on from Day 1, and I soon found myself alone with Michael, as his own Partner had exited to give us time together. He drifted in and out of consciousness as I tried to keep my tears back, telling him stories about my children's lives and getting an occasional smile from him but, when he seemed to be finally asleep, I buried my face in my arms and opened the floodgates. I felt a twitch in my hand and looked up to see him staring deep into my soul. I wordlessly thanked him for all of our beautiful times together and he responded by tousling my hair in another uncharacteristically playful manner, beaming brightly as he directed my attention back to the TV. It dawned on me that he was sendiing another message: a “Woman of Color” is the presumptive Democratic Candidate for President of the United States of America! An event which would have been unimaginable- I daresay impossible- if not for the “good trouble” engaged in by Michael and those of his ilk, and we were witnesses together of that momentous occasion. The moment was interrupted by the arrival of his Partner and the Nurse- a flurry of tube changing and monitor recalibrations, so I sensed it was time to leave. I felt my parting words, “I'll see you tomorrow”, had a hollow ring to them, but the smile on Michael’s face contradicted my fears. I did, indeed, see him the next day, and, though his eyes were closed and he was no longer struggling for breath, his smile remained, and I knew he was seeing me- seeing all of us- through the next step in creating a “more perfect Union”. Good night, sweet Prince, and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest. 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