Deceased June 10, 1994

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In Memory

Allan Albert, an unforgettable member of the Class of 1967 and a successful New York producer and documentary filmmaker, died on June 10, in New York, of lymphoma.

Allan’s death shocked most of his closest friends who had no idea he was even sick. Allan and I visited and talked regularly, but I hadn’t seen him since Christmas Day. I happened to be in New York and left a message at his office that I was in town for a couple of weeks. That night my wife called me: Ellen Link, a close friend of Allan’s since childhood, had coincidentally called to tell us that Allan was dying; he wanted me to speak at his memorial service. Devastated, I called Ellen who told me that only five weeks before doctors had informed Allan he had advanced lymphoma. The early treatment didn’t go well, and the prognosis was not good. Allan decided against more treatment. He also decided that he would prepare for death privately, with only three of his closest friends at his side—Ellen, Gary Feinstein and Donald Schmittzehe. He had already planned the memorial service and written a draft of his obituary.

As stunned as I was by this awful news (and Allan’s efforts to keep it from us for so long), I couldn’t resist a smile: Allan remained the director to the end, in control of his life and the people in it. (Gary later told me that when he raised an eyebrow at the growing list of achievements Allan was dictating to him for the obit, Allan mustered enough strength to chew him out.) At Ellen’s suggestion, I called the hospital the next day. Gary warned me that Allan was very weak, unable to talk. “But let me put the phone to his ear,” he said. And that was how, with great difficulty, I was able to tell Allan how much our 30-year friendship had meant to me and my family, and then say goodbye. All I heard at the other end of the phone was Allan’s breathing. “He heard you,” Gary assured me. “He reacted.”

The next morning, Allan died, at 48, an absurdly young age for such a talented man and friend. Major obituaries in the Boston Globe and New York Times reported his death, noting that since 1980, he had headed Allan Albert Productions, which produced live shows for Hersheypark and other theme parks; he also produced a film documentary about Cole Porter for the PBS American Masters series and “The Songs of Six Families,” a 90-minute PBS tribute to regional music in America. In 1991, Allan directed the Cole Porter 100th anniversary gala at Carnegie Hall. After Amherst, Allan went to the Yale Drama School and then founded the Proposition, an improvisational troupe that ran in Cambridge and New York for a decade, launching the careers of Jane Curtin, Josh Mostel, Monteith and Rand and others. From 1977-79, he was artistic director of the Berkshire Theater Festival and the Charles River Playhouse. Allan also did stints as director of comedy development at the infant HBO and WNET in New York. Allan also filled in for Walter Boughton in the Amherst theater department in the 1970s. At the time of his death, he and his friend, William Henry III, the drama critic for Time, were researching a file for PBS about Norman Rockwell. (In a bizarre twist, a month after Allan’s death, Bill Henry died of a heart attack in London.)

Classmates will remember Allan’s productions of The Fantastics in the basement of the social dorms, starring Ken Howard ’66, and Murder in the Cathedral at Grace Episcopal Church with Stephen Collins ’69—the first plays to be staged outside of Kirby—and his performance as Marat in Kirby’s production of Marat/Sade. The Boston Globe obit quoted colleagues who described Allan as “brilliant” and “acerbic”; “he had a temper,” said one actress—descriptions that will probably ring true with those who knew Allan or crossed swords with him at Amherst. At a jammed memorial service on July 27 at New York’s International Center for Photography, whose board Allan sat on, I tried to give his New York friends a sense of what he was like at Amherst. “Intimidating,” I said. “Very intimidating.” The Allan they knew was very similar to the Allan we knew at Amherst. “There was nothing boyish about the young Allan Albert,” I said. “And innocent was not an adjective that was ever attached to his name. Allan scared the hell out of most people at Amherst, including the faculty.”

But Allan was also brilliant at friendship. He seemed to be able to spend days—and nights—talking to people at the snack bar, at AD or at Rappaport’s deli where he worked part time junior year. I don’t ever remember seeing him working in the library or cramming for an exam. Allan understood that Amherst was not about grades. It was about creating theater, friendships and himself. I can’t remember what Allan majored in, except maybe advice.

Amherst was an important part of Allan’s life. He returned to reunions, kept in touch with many classmates and some faculty members. Before his death, he set up Allan P. Albert (Class of 1967) Photograph Fund at the College. I am happy his name will be associated with Amherst. That name has always been the first in my address book; it will stay there. In memory of Allan Albert. For any other Amherst people who would like to do something in Allan’s memory, I’d recommend a contribution to Amherst’s Allan Albert Photograph Fund.

Edward F. Tivnan ’67