Richard Kramer
If you are born in New York, and you spend at least a little of your life there, you know that the city is a conversation that never stops. If anyone was ever a New Yorker, it’s Joan Molinsky Rosenberg Rivers, and the New York conversation is and has been her particular genius. I met her once. She talked to me as if she knew me from the elevator, in her building, that we’d seen and smiled at each other since Lindsay was Mayor. It was at the intermission of a preview of the original production of DREAMGIRLS, in 1981 (the picture is the result of Googling JOAN RIVERS, 1981). She was alone, I was alone; she had the POST, and I did, too, because it was a time when you could have the POST, and it didn’t say something terrible about you.
At the end of the first act, which was something else, she turned to me, smiled, took my wrist, as if we could go on with the conversation we were having when the lights until we were interrupted by the start of the show. “You know what this show is?” she asked. She didn’t wait for an answer. “This show is for every gay Jewish boy who ever wished he was a Supreme.” She was right, of course, and I laughed. Then she refined it. “Diana,” she said. “Not the others. The others were always dreck.”
Here’s to you, Joan. Thinking of you. You're a Dreamgirl, too; may the conversation continue.