Mailer's Final Gift

The Norman Mailer Archives A week after our talk in the dining room, Norman was hospitalized at Mount Sinai, in New York City. A nurse, knowing who he was, said nervously to him, “I’d like to write, but I don’t know how.”

“Well, what are you doing this weekend?” he asked.

“Going sailing with my boyfriend.”

“So when you get home, write about your weekend,” Norman replied, “and bring it to me and I’ll take a look at it.”

I had overheard that conversation and the following week when I returned to visit Norman, he was in the ICU. And there he was, pencil in hand, editing some text. The same nurse was sitting there at his side, her back to the window, listening in awe to his every word as he went line by line through the typed pages she had given him. Finally, he handed her his corrections. She just sat there reading his notes, over and over and over. And Norman, tubes and IVs stuck all over his body, went back to reading the newspaper.

The two of them were framed almost in silhouette. I lifted my little Sony camera and took a picture. The groundwork for the Colony continued to be laid without anybody saying a word about it.

Norman survived a six-hour operation in early October 2007 to remove the scar tissue on his lungs. When he awoke, he looked up at Norris, Mike Lennon, and me and said, “Larry, I had a dream about you. I was God and you were the Devil and we made a pact to fight technology. This is our last stand against technology.” That was vintage Norman, never giving up on his battles against technology and plastics.

One week later, Norman went under the knife again. This time when he woke up, he had a hole in his windpipe, could not speak, and could barely write. After another four weeks in Mount Sinai, during which his condition continued to decline, the doctors told his family and close friends that the computer printout of Norman’s condition made it clear: It was time. And Norman had already said, while he was still able to speak, that he was ready to die. Less than six hours later, Norman died.

Norman was buried at the tip of Cape Cod, in the Provincetown cemetery. Mike Lennon and I were two of a dozen speakers who stood next to the mahogany casket. Off to the side were photographs depicting Norman’s life.

That evening as the sun began to set, there was a reception at Norman and Norris’s house. Some 60 people gathered. At one point, I was talking to Hans Janitschek and his wife, Friedl.