I called the Savoy and was given a fax number to message, which I did, and frankly I thought that would be that. I had read in that morning’s Evening Standard that he was in London, and a friend tipped me off that he always stayed at the Savoy Hotel. Jack had written extensively on Sondheim, and I dreamed of getting some comments from the great man. I was in my early twenties, working at a cable television channel and quietly developing a book about my late mentor, the great theater critic Jack Tinker. You know that scene in “Monty Python and the Holy Grail” where the clouds part and God speaks to an overwhelmed King Arthur and his gaze-averting knights? That’s how I felt when I first spoke to Stephen Sondheim, who has died this week aged 91.
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