Recollections of Barry By Don Hauptman, NYC, April 28, 2021

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Unlike  others reminiscing here, Barry and I weren’t close. I wish we had been,  but our schedules and his health were probably among the obstacles.  Still, over the years, our paths crossed several times in interesting  ways….

We  first met in the late 1980s. I was writing a book about language and  wordplay and I wanted to include examples of puns in other languages. No  Google then, but I recalled reading about Barry’s Language Club. I  contacted him and obtained an invitation, despite not being a student of  a foreign language. The members and the conversation were fascinating  and I obtained material that was useful in my research. 

When  the book was published, I was interviewed by a community newspaper. The  reporter said that his editor wanted to include a comment on the  subject by “a prominent New Yorker.” Who, I thought, met that criterion  better than Barry Farber? He was cooperative, offering this puckish  observation, which was quoted: “Wordplay is a way to have fun without  sex or drugs.”

When  one of our friends came to NYC to visit Barry and Sara at their  apartment in the Apthorp, I was invited. I live at Lincoln Center, less  than a mile due south. I had walked by that legendary building hundreds  of times, but had never been inside. We chatted at length at their  kitchen table, then adjourned to a nearby restaurant, spending several  hours together in all. Barry had serious medical problems even back  then, but he was coherent and sharp. When Barry and Sara told the story  of how they had reconnected and married after being out of touch for  decades, I thought the tale was so remarkable that, with their  permission, I tried to find a reporter to write a story about it, but  that mission wasn’t successful. This may be why I became an advertising  copywriter instead of a publicist! (Sara is best qualified to tell the  story.)

That  was the final occasion Barry and I met, but we continued to correspond  via email. His messages were always terrifically friendly, gracious, and  cheerful, more so than those of anyone else I know. And the subject of  our correspondence segues naturally to my final anecdote….

In  2012, the U.S. Postal Service released a commemorative stamp honoring  O. Henry. Since childhood, and to this day, I’ve been an admirer of the  famed writer’s short stories. So I bought a quantity of the stamps and  included one, just for fun, when I routinely sent news clips to friends  via postal mail—inside the envelopes, not outside. After Barry received  the delivery, he sent me a message: “Don! You were so thoughtful to  remember that O. Henry and I are both from Greensboro, N.C.” In fact, I didn’t remember. I had sent the stamp to many people, simply to share my  interest in the work of the author. But the expression of appreciation,  however undeserved, was entirely typical of Barry’s warmth and  enthusiasm.