and home of "That Singing Feeling" workshops
| Home |
| Biography |
| Reviews |
| Journal |
| Recordings |
| Workshops |
| Links and Likes |
| Contact |
JOURNAL
July 2005
NEAL RIVARD, 1962-2005
After a time, perhaps you can find glimmers of light through wonderful memories and maybe even gratitude for having known such an extraordinary person. When someone wonderful dies, we all wish we had more time to appreciate him and it doesn't matter if he had 20 years or 80 years or 42 years.
Such was the case with my friend Neal Rivard, the kindest, most courageous, most welcoming, life-affirming, and brazen person I've ever known.
Neal and I met when our two towns combined its students and sent them to a regional junior-senior high school. Like many small American towns, our school was known for its football, its decent academics and teachers who stayed for life, its clubs and committees, its whiteness and its intolerance for diversity. Oh, it was preached . . . but seldom practiced.
The first time I saw Neal, around 1975, he was wearing designer sweaters and well-made, pressed slacks and top-of-the-line platform shoes. He was ahead of the disco craze by at least a year. Unlike me, he seemed to be unconcerned with what people thought of him and it was that quality of self-respect that won my admiration.
We became friends when we sat next to each other in French class during our freshman year. I think we stayed with French for four years just so we could continue chatting, much to the dismay of Monsieur Trudeau. At the age of around 15 or 16, he revealed to me that he was gay. I was so uptight and repressed myself that I hardly knew what gay was — but I knew I had to remain his friend. And besides, the scandal of it in that atmosphere was too exciting to pass up!
Soon after, he came out to his rather strict Catholic mother and I was told the ensuing scene was not pretty. However, because he did what he did at such a young age, his mother not only eventually overcame the shock but became his best friend until she died in 2004.
In addition to the cruel taunting of classmates, Neal endured tragedy in his own life. His father died when he was six and years later a brother died young and a teenage niece died in a car accident. Also, because of the industry he was in, he saw countless friends die of AIDS.
Despite all that, Neal never lost his wicked sense of humor and wit and made everyone who came into his life feel welcomed and loved.
One memory from our high school years was when Neal and I took our driver education class together. At the end of the course, Mr. Linhart took us to a nearby city on a Saturday afternoon to test our skills. I sat in the back seat as Neal took his turn. I was laughing hysterically at Neal's pathetic attempts to parallel park or disengage the emergency brake and have us rolling backwards. Finally, as he finished, Mr. Linhart said, "Rivard, that was the worst driving I've ever seen. 21 wrong!" He slunk into the back seat and I took my turn. I don't know if if my own cockiness undid me or if I was just having too much fun to care, but when all was said and done, Mr. Linhart announced, "22 wrong, Hall! I think you guys better move to Boston and use the trains." (He pretty much got that right, actually.) Nobody was laughing harder than Neal in the back seat, and rightly so!
After high school, he boldly went off to beauty school because he wanted to be a hairdresser — to hell with what anyone thought. I went off to a Christian college. Such divergent paths we took. We lost touch for a few years.
Before long, Neal established himself as one of the most successful hairdressers in Boston, with a growing clientele at a posh Newbury Street salon. After college, I had moved to New York to pursue a long, tortuous journey of trying to become some kind of singer or actor or whatever. I established contact again and when we met he took me back in as a friend as though he were completely certain I was going to come back. He never looked behind, only ahead.
Over the next twenty years, some of the best times of my life were my weekends in Boston to visit Neal. He was known all over town, so when he and his friends went to the best clubs in town, we were waived past the waiting riffraff. I don't think he ever paid a cover charge.
Neal had his own language. His apartment was central headquarters for all his friends. While we waited in the living room, he'd emerge from his room, looking fabulous, and demand, "Who needs a highball?" Or if the night seemed especially promising for good times, he'd ask, in that ridiculous Boston accent, "Are we ready to howl?" The word "howl" had about three syllables and sounded like music coming from his mouth. If you paid him a compliment he'd simply say, "I love you for that."
In 1994, he coordinated my first show in Boston at the beautiful Club Cafe, where he had connections. When I arrived for the show, my audience full of family and old college friends, Neal took care to introduce me from stage center — in full drag regalia!
I was lucky enough to spend the millennium 1999-2000 New Year's Eve with him. That was the year of Y2K and as the seconds were counting down, the entire world wondered what would happen. At midnight, as party horns blared and confetti fell and people shouted and kissed, Neal took a puff of his cigarette, turned to me and said, in complete deadpan, "Well, is that it? Couldn't a f---ing light bulb go out?" I howled!
The weekend before Neal's death on June 20th, he reached the pinnacle of his professional success, doing hair for a wedding at the Ritz. This was "old money Boston" and there was so much money that at a wedding night party at Logan Airport, the father of the bride was able to have a runway closed down for a half hour so they could have fireworks. Neal was there as an honored guest to appreciate it all. He died in Provincetown while on vacation with friends just days later.
The wake and funeral were packed back in the hometown and I hope the residents, most of whom never put out the welcome mat for him, saw what an impact he had. Neal may have died young, but he had the last laugh on them.
Neal epitomized generosity and welcome and goodwill. He gave countless time and money to various charities. His door was always open to anyone who needed a place to stay, for whatever reason, no judgments. I am the churchgoer, but I have never exhibited Christian behavior like Neal did. He made a lot of money doing work he loved and he also knew how to have a good time. In the truest sense, he lived life to the fullest. With that track record, maybe God decided 42 years was enough and that he deserved to move on to a better place.
May we all learn from Neal's example and may he rest in peace. We love you, buddy, and you will be missed.
What's Your Opinion?
KevScoHall@Verizon.net