Baird Jones, I never knew ya...
Just read that Baird Jones died 2 weeks ago. He was a very well-known NYC party promoter/minor league gossip columnist for more than 30 years. The "curator" for venerable Webster Hall. Only 53 when he died. One of those "fringe" NYC characters always on "the scene"...and who always seem to die alone, too young, in a "wacky" Village apartment. It's sad to me...these people seem to live these incredibly flashy lives, but I always get the impression it's empty and lonely at its core. I'm always suspicious of people who HAVE to be out partying every fucking night of their lives. What are they running from? Just seems a terribly sad cautionary tale to me. Let it be known, though...Mr. Jones was Ivy League-educated and from a family of media titans, so he's not EXACTLY the Sad Example i'm referencing. A bit, though.
And here's why I mention his passing -- I never went to one of his parties, but for YEARS had TONS of his cards/passes. It was only within the past year, I'd guess, that I got rid of MOST of them. Yes, I kept 6...and they still sit in my main desk drawer. Well, at this MOMENT, they're next to me for reference purposes. One's much older than the other and very yellowed. You know what...bear with me here, i'm writing as I remember...I originally only HAD the one, then called one of his "hotline" numbers and ordered some of my own. Damn, I'd forgotten that.
I'd gotten the first card WAY back in either late high school or early college...from a year-older high school acquaintance who was, to me at the time, the epitome of hip. This guy represented what NYC was all about to me at the time...velvet ropes, doormen, impossibly slick people. You know, the way it still is to many...but you're more starry-eyed about it when you're 17 and can't legally drink. Didn't take long at all for me to lose all patience for doormen, lines, and cover charges, not to mention pretentious tools. But I digress.
The point is, Baird Jones represents a Certain Time in my life...even though I never even used his passes. I can still hear his voice, though...for a while there, I'd call regularly, always with the intention/hope of finally going. He'd ramble at LENGTH, and in a very casual, non-scripted way, about where all the parties were, what time to go, what to wear, what to say to the doorman, blah blah blah. Tomorrow, I'll call his numbers again...see if someone's taken his place, or if it's a tribute...or if the numbers are simply disconnected, forever lost to the past.
Funny...make that scary...my original card is so old that it uses the word DISCOTHEQUES. Um, still, this is like the early 90s, not 1978. And there's the little drawing on the card of a preppy-looking Baird, minus the hat I'm reading he always wore. Damn, I even have his actual address written on this card. Had I planned on stalking him? Insinuating myself into his NYC world? Or I could've just had the address for mailing purposes. Who knows. I just know these cards are likely worthless now...and yet, they're now bizarre collectors' items! So another eccentric NYC fixture is gone...one I knew in a most-peripheral way. One who'll forever remind me of being young in NYC. He's actually throwing one final party from the grave...well, in HONOR of him by his friends...at Plumm on Friday...open wine bar...ANYONE can go...just like his parties always were open to anyone, not just the elite. Hmm, maybe i'll finally go. Good night, Baird.
And here's why I mention his passing -- I never went to one of his parties, but for YEARS had TONS of his cards/passes. It was only within the past year, I'd guess, that I got rid of MOST of them. Yes, I kept 6...and they still sit in my main desk drawer. Well, at this MOMENT, they're next to me for reference purposes. One's much older than the other and very yellowed. You know what...bear with me here, i'm writing as I remember...I originally only HAD the one, then called one of his "hotline" numbers and ordered some of my own. Damn, I'd forgotten that.
I'd gotten the first card WAY back in either late high school or early college...from a year-older high school acquaintance who was, to me at the time, the epitome of hip. This guy represented what NYC was all about to me at the time...velvet ropes, doormen, impossibly slick people. You know, the way it still is to many...but you're more starry-eyed about it when you're 17 and can't legally drink. Didn't take long at all for me to lose all patience for doormen, lines, and cover charges, not to mention pretentious tools. But I digress.
The point is, Baird Jones represents a Certain Time in my life...even though I never even used his passes. I can still hear his voice, though...for a while there, I'd call regularly, always with the intention/hope of finally going. He'd ramble at LENGTH, and in a very casual, non-scripted way, about where all the parties were, what time to go, what to wear, what to say to the doorman, blah blah blah. Tomorrow, I'll call his numbers again...see if someone's taken his place, or if it's a tribute...or if the numbers are simply disconnected, forever lost to the past.
Funny...make that scary...my original card is so old that it uses the word DISCOTHEQUES. Um, still, this is like the early 90s, not 1978. And there's the little drawing on the card of a preppy-looking Baird, minus the hat I'm reading he always wore. Damn, I even have his actual address written on this card. Had I planned on stalking him? Insinuating myself into his NYC world? Or I could've just had the address for mailing purposes. Who knows. I just know these cards are likely worthless now...and yet, they're now bizarre collectors' items! So another eccentric NYC fixture is gone...one I knew in a most-peripheral way. One who'll forever remind me of being young in NYC. He's actually throwing one final party from the grave...well, in HONOR of him by his friends...at Plumm on Friday...open wine bar...ANYONE can go...just like his parties always were open to anyone, not just the elite. Hmm, maybe i'll finally go. Good night, Baird.
posted by Gregoire at 9:51 PM
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