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Last November, Aubrey came back to New York for a visit, glowing and crowing about his remission. Last night I learned he wouldn't be returning. Dave, thank you for getting the word to me, and bless you for the joy you gave Aubrey. Kevin, thank you for this wonderful remembrance of an extraordinary man.
I was in Aubrey's second set of Crisisline trainees. His energy, commitment and vitality were so strong that, soon, I was volunteering at every opportunity. The Crisisline was composed of a group of people who, inspired by Aubrey, were dedicated to helping make gay people's lives better, one phone call at a time -- nothing else mattered except that service to the community. I am certain beyond measure that this world is a better place because of all those calls Aubrey trained us to answer. Aubs, I know the kid from Altoona sends you his thanks. And all your Linettes send you our love.

I am in town visiting, and was quite shocked when someone mention Aubrey's name over dinner, and how sad it was that he died. I had no idea. I am quite lucky to have had Aubrey and his parents as friends in my life. I will always remember him, and his mom, Millie, for their wonderful gift of laughter and their caring spirits. Bob, you have my deepest sympathies.
Chuck Sullivan

I didn't get to know Aubrey very well. I assumed he'd be around for a long time...I wish I had made the time. But from the little I knew him, he was such a great person and I was so glad to have him in my family. He made my Uncle David pretty happy which is a hard thing to do. I was always suprised by how witty and intelligent and wise Aubrey was, each and every time I saw or heard from him. I admired his convictions, many of which I share. I admired his good taste and literal good taste in the kitchen. And I am amazed reading all these entries how much he was involved in so many things. He was a wonderful writer, really excellent. He said once he was going to write a play about my family. I was really looking forward to reading it. He was so lucid and clever. I probably would have learned something. How many learning-experiences will we miss without him?

They tell me that death is a part of living, and you have to accept it. I don't know why we have to lose our best and brightest so soon, or ever. I will never accept it.
Aubrey wrote me once that "at times like these the distance between two points seems especially far."
I hope to close those distances between myself and my friends, and I hope that you will all do the same.

-Shannon

I have been reading through the email messages I received from Aubrey and I am repeatedly surprised by his wit and the distinctness of his voice in each message. Reading those quips reminded of one anecdote, which I wanted to share. This occurred several years ago at Holiday Valley ski resort where I was getting ready to go skiing with Aubrey and Dave. I had only met Aubrey a couple times before this. As we were preparing to go outside I noticed Aubrey had a rather thin pair of gloves.
I said, "I hope you're going to be warm enough with those gloves. If I had realized how poorly equipped you are, I would have brought my spare pair to loan you."
He raised an eyebrow and said, "I've been called a lot of things in my time, but no one has EVER called me poorly equipped before!"

Remembering Aubrey

Not long after I joined the staff of the National Gay Task Force (NGTF) in New York City, a new volunteer arrived—Aubrey Wertheim. For a newcomer, Aubrey struck me as insufficiently humble and inordinately forthcoming with his opinions, which were numerous and strongly held. But there was a war going on. It was 1982 and AIDS had hit New York like an atomic bomb—and Aubrey quickly earned the right to speak his mind.

Once we had adjusted to each other and to life at the Task Force, Aubrey and I became foxhole buddies. We had such different ways of being in the world and sometimes we confused or judged the other. Most of the time, though, we enjoyed and appreciated our differences. We worked well together and respected each other’s contribution to the movement. Although he was a volunteer, Aubrey was embraced as one of the staff.

Living off the royalties of a comedy that he wrote for PBS’s American Playhouse, Aubrey took charge of the Task Force’s Crisisline, the nation’s first toll-free AIDS information hotline. (As yet there was no federal government hotline for AIDS, another example of the Reagan Administration’s appreciation for the gay community.) NGTF’s Crisisline also existed for callers to report anti-gay violence. Such attacks were on the rise because of increased gay visibility due to AIDS, and my job at the Task Force was to direct its anti-violence project.

In what seemed like weeks, Aubrey organized a large, diverse, dedicated, and capable cadre of volunteers who took thousands of calls from individuals, including many health care workers, from all over the country. Recognizing that many callers needed in-depth information, Aubrey also started a national information clearinghouse, compiling up-to-date materials on AIDS, hate crimes, coming out, gay youth issues, and much more. These packets were a lifeline to callers, especially those isolated in their communities. I have no doubt that some are alive and living today because of Aubrey’s outreach.

The Crisislinettes, as Aubrey called them, adored Aubrey. He was a patient, kind-hearted, and devoted mentor. Once a week or so, after the Crisisline closed for the evening, he and a bunch of volunteers would dine out at Charlie Ma’s, a nearby Chinese restaurant. Afterwards or the next morning he might visit volunteers who were in the hospital with AIDS. As I recall, he attended more than a few deaths and memorial services.

Aubrey had an irreverent, ironical, and mischievous sense of humor. Sometimes when I was struggling with a difficult situation or taking myself too seriously at work, Aubrey would distract me with a funny story or playful teasing. I can hear him saying, “Oh, Mrs. Berrill, it’s not that bad.” (On occasion he had taken to calling me “Mrs. Berrill.” I responded by calling him “Mrs. Wertheim.” This seemed a bit formal for our casual office, so I became “Mrs. B.” “Mrs. W.” had too many syllables, so I went back to calling him “Aubrey,” especially when I called him at his parents’ house. Aubrey also liked to address me as "imp," "elf," "Berrill Butt," "Butt o' mine," and "Precious butt."

Aubrey had the rare ability to live in the present and to enjoy whatever little pleasure or humor the moment had to offer. At the same time he possessed extraordinary focus, which enabled him to accomplish a tremendous amount. I was amazed by his generosity; at other times I wondered whether he was giving too much of himself. I also admired and envied his fearlessness. I have taken some big risks in my life, and doing so almost always terrified and exhausted me. Aubrey seemed to be more accepting of the perils and uncertainty of life, and was less afraid to make mistakes. He was uninterested in climbing up organizational ladders or impressing authorities. He was more comfortable, and probably more effective, at the fringe.

Accustomed to living as artist in the most expensive place in the country, Aubrey lived incredibly simply, but not austerely. His small Manhattan apartment had style. His living room looked kind of like a stage set from the 1940s. I vaguely recall chintz and shades of green.

Aubrey eschewed the trademark gay male “clone” look of the early 1980s — Levis, flannel shirt, boots. He would not allow himself to be hemmed in, as it were, by conventional hypermasculine look of the day. Instead, he wore well-tailored second-hand clothes that draped nicely on his tall, slender body. There was a gracefulness about him.

Aubrey never stopped concocting schemes to make the world a better place. After he had gotten the Crisisline up and running, he developed a gay men’s identity program for the New York State Department of Health. Then he started a welcome wagon for gay and lesbian newcomers to New York or for native New Yorkers just coming out.

Eventually, Aubrey decided to leave New York for his native Ohio, and he carried his message of caring and community with him. I remember that was a difficult transition for him, and I was not as supportive as he needed me to be.

As I mentioned previously, Aubrey had held strong opinions. Like me, he could be annoyingly self-righteous. He abhorred violence, and to him violence included the killing of animals for food or clothing, especially when there was abundant food available from plant sources. I admired his vegetarianism but did not follow his path. How could I when his idea of an appealing dinner menu consisted of sunflower seeds or peanuts (unshelled) for an appetizer, a cooked yam and steamed broccoli for an entree, and dried figs for dessert? Somehow that kept him going, and he seemed to enjoy it. More than once Aubrey expressed his disapproval of my choice to eat meat. A couple of years ago at a restaurant here in D.C. he lectured me while glaring at my chicken burrito: “You of all people, Mrs. B., who spent so much of your career opposing violence!” Even though a big part of me agrees with him, I still haven’t changed my diet. Aubrey, on the other hand, always sought to bring his actions into alignment with his convictions. He did not want to add in any way to the suffering in this world.

Sometimes our views and values collided, and once we did not speak for months. Angry at him for judging me, I sent him a harsh letter which he mailed right back to me with a few choice words of admonition (perhaps including a recommendation that my letter be quarantined). More months of silence followed. Then, out of the blue, he called. There were a few awkward, tender moments, followed by a gush of chatting, gossip, and breaking news. Our friendship resumed, thanks to him.

During our years together in New York, Aubrey and I had an abundance of friends, meaningful work, and serial, short-lived romances. Alas, we had no husbands. “Oh, Mrs. B., what are we to do?,” he would moan as we worked late at the office. We lamented the lack of available men (in New York City!), never considering that we ourselves were unavailable. As it turns out, our husbands were out there, but we would have to wait about fifteen to twenty more years to find them.

Loving Dave Chrispell, whom Aubrey met while doing AIDS work at a rural town in upstate New York, was one of Aubrey’s greatest achievements. I only wish he and Dave had had the chance to enjoy more years together. I wish the same for Aubrey’s family—Bob, Peggy, Millie—whom Aubrey greatly loved, and who greatly loved him. Having met them once or twice, I caught a glimpse of just how much they nurtured his imagination and his progressive politics.

Aubrey wrote florid, witty, clever letters. I have saved most of them, and I’m glad I did for each is a gem. In his flamboyant handwriting, he gave breezy updates on his latest writing projects or travels. His letters were filled with wry, understated, and spot-on observations about the goings on of his world. His correspondence also revealed an introspective side that I knew less well but which was at least as strong as his activist side. Looking back, I think the writer and the activist were different but complementary expressions of his soul. His plays always had political content. Without being didactic, his works challenged sexism, heterosexism, racism, or unfairness of one sort or another. By the same token, his activism was heavily influenced by his theater training and play writing. He had a flair for the dramatic and knew how to motivate others to achieve a goal.

Writing or directing for the theater, running a hotline, organizing a community event, directing a project, mentoring volunteers, visiting the sick and dying, loving others. Aubrey lived an utterly coherent, holistic, committed life.

A memory from June, 1992: Aubrey was driving us in his beat up car from Columbus to Cleveland. I had been a rally speaker at Columbus’ gay pride celebration. “Hey,” I asked, “how come this car doesn’t have a passenger’s side air bag?” “Yes it does,” he said. “You.” We just cackled at that one.

Aubrey and I weren’t as close after he moved back to Ohio, but we stayed in touch. His last email to me arrived on October 17, 2002. He reported on the progress of his latest play, his mother’s Alzheimer’s, possibly organizing a drag bingo game as part of a fund raising event, and strategies for sticking to his new sugar-free diet during the Halloween season. Chemotherapy was behind him. He wrote, “I have eyebrows back—a vanity point I admit, but a comfort.” He was, he said, “in complete remission.” Life was moving forward.

It’s hard to believe that Aubrey has died. He was always so healthy, and I was always struggling with health problems. He was youthful and yet perfectly cast for a fabulous old age. He was one of the most fully alive individuals I have ever met—quirky, brilliant, creative, compassionate, opinionated, generous, authentic, tender, inspired, playful, stubborn, funny, unconventional, witty, loyal, disciplined, determined, persistent, and kind. It’s impossible to measure all the good he has done or just how much the world is diminished by his passing.

I have photos that Aubrey and I took of each other at a colleague’s house on Fire Island. The year was 1985, I think, not long before he moved to Ohio and I moved to DC. We each look so healthy, handsome even, in those pictures. In his photo, Aubrey props his elbow on a fence; a leafy branch drapes beautifully above his head and to one side of him. The sun dapples his face and torso. His expression is serious, but he will flash a grin at any moment.

It’s hard to stop looking at Aubrey’s photo. Could he really be gone? How quickly time goes! How temporary we are! How sad that he has taken with him memories of our times together, leaving me responsible to recollect our past.

May I, may all of us, grieve the loss of the Aubrey we each knew. May we find consolation in the fact that Aubrey’s life was so well lived. May we be inspired by his imagination and passion for fairness. May whatever spark that animated his life continue to endure for the good of the world. May his memory be a blessing.

Kevin Berrill

# # #

Since leaving Cleveland for college a long time ago, I had seen Aubrey (my cousin) only periodically in our adult lives, but I have wonderful memories from the summer that Aubrey spent in Provincetown which allowed for a number of visits. Aubrey and I had a glorious day of biking around the dunes of Cape Cod sharing memories of our childhood together. Just as he reached out to the community, Aubrey also reached out to various parts of his extended family looking for ways to bring people together. Last June, under very difficult circumstances and in the midst of treatment, Aubrey made the trip to Boston for my daughter's wedding. My wife, Amy, and I were surprised and gratified that he would make the effort. We were very fortunately to have had this last visit with Aubrey. Our lives, like so many others', are richer because of him.

Ed Wertheim
Newton, MA

Aubrey was instrumental in one of the most important moments of my life -- he introduced me to my life partner of 15 years, Eric Graber.

We both volunteered at the Fund for Human Dignity, and Aubrey was, bar none, the most dynamic, effective and inspiring leader of a non-profit group I've ever met. Part of his genius was recognizing that the volunteers needed to bond as friends as well as colleagues. He always made a point of choosing a local restaurant where the volunteers and he could go after our shift and chill out. And, frankly, as he once put in "maybe find a husband!"

Eric and I got to know each other at just such dinners. We will always love Aubrey for many things, but this was his special gift to us.

His energy, his humor and his warmth did far more for his causes than he probably realized. He humanized his causes, he helped stressed-out volunteers to gain perspective, and he infused everything with FUN.

An inspiration -- one we'll try to live up to to honor him.

I met Aubrey only twice with my Aunt Madelaine whose friendship with Aubrey's mother went back to working together in Alaska during World War II. Aubrey came with his father and sister to my aunt's memorial service in Cleveland two years ago and to lunch with our family afterward. It was clear to me that Aubrey was a special, warm and witty person. A "live wire" my Aunt Madelaine would say.

I want to thank David Chrispell for making the effort to contact me about Aubrey's death and to offer my symphathy to him and all of Aubrey's family and friends who will miss him so much.

I met Aubrey in 1990 when I attended my first PRYSM meeting. He quickly became my mentor and role model, and later my friend. I owe a great deal to him. I am completely out and proud of who I am largely because of his example. He was a dear, sweet, funny and wonderful man. His passing is a great loss to me, and to our entire community.

The funniest thing that Aubrey ever did for me was when I being accused by a local group called SOAR of many awful things. He sent me a postcard from Zoar, OH with many amusing observations on it. I kept in on my desk during that hard time to remind me to laugh and boy did it make me laugh.

I'd been kind of fascinated by the man dividing the Pampas Grass in our neighbor's garden, and I needed some help in my own garden, so I asked, "Do you do this for a profession." "No, I'm a playwright!" Our friendship began with the gift of a clump of our neighbor's Pampas Grass, which Aubrey transplanted for me. Aubrey immediately nicknamed me "Our Lady of the Pampas Grass." But the grass expresses Aubrey's spirit instead! Every time I look at it now, jaunty, unbowed by snow, dancing in the wind, how can I help but think of him, and miss him?

We will miss you, Aubrey, you made a difference!

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