I’m gutted to learn of the premature passage of this precious soul. Andy and I knew one another from the Jewish community at Wesleyan. He was, as all who knew him can attest, inimitable and radiant, and more comprehensively himself than perhaps anyone I’ve met before or since. The summer of ’95, following his first hospitalization, he called me in New Orleans where I was for the summer. How did anyone find anyone back then? I have no idea. He described what his psychosis had been like, how there had been nothing more abominable than a word with two o’s in it in sequence. He described other idiosyncratic abominations too, but that’s the one that stuck with me. I last saw Andy in New York in 2004 at a showing of Sondheim’s Assassins. In my memory his eyes were framed in glitter, although it may have just been sweat and stage lights. Zichrono livracha.