Mr. Plimpton, like a genius, you used every one of your years in full. Not that I ever really knew you, but of everything else, I admired this most of all. Six months ago, when we were stuffing you into the French can-can outfit -- custom tailored to your frame -- I asked you if you thought that would be the strangest thing you'd do that day. You shrugged, and responded that you had no idea what each day was going to bring.
Later in the day when the shoot was on pause, you sat in those petticoats, stripped to the waist, and with only sincerity played Edith Piaf songs on piano. I didn't cry then, but it would be easy to now. In that moment, it was impossible to know just how to feel, and this is still true.
In the next several months, there will be a million stories told about you, and all of them will be true. Big mitts. Big gloves. You didn't win, but you win anyway and always.Posted by kevin slavin at September 26, 2003 11:17 PM