My David Broder -(not a cartoon this time)

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 David Broder died several days ago and just had to write about it.

            I felt the need to write an  unusual perspective on my relationship as a makeup artist on Meet the Press and the well known and respected journalist for the Washington Post who made 400 or so visits to our show – David Broder.

            This will be a bit of a struggle to not make this a self indulgent whine, for David was more than a friend, he was an ally in a world where I am supposed to be seen and not heard and ‘seen’ very little for that matter. As a makeup artist, I am not really supposed to give my opinions, ask too many questions and to keep a low profile. Like any other person in the service industry, I’m to be pleasant, well groomed, do my job quickly and quietly. However, every once in a while a “David” comes along and breaks through, recognizing my need to be appreciated as an artist and heard as an individual, he tapped in almost from day one. He allowed me to give my opinion, in fact in his gentle way demanded it. He pushed me to explain my argument and to be as clear as I could while slathering makeup on him. It was a great two-sides-of-the-brain-balancing-act for me, which I think he knew and gave me some allowance for. I would inevitable say something completely backwards or nonsensical ending our serious discussion in peals of laughter from both of us. I always tried to save David for the last person to be made up, just so we’d have extra time to laugh and catch up before the show started.

            We entertained each other in those few minutes. Visit after visit, we’d talk and laugh, we kissed hello and hugged goodbye. I looked forward to his appearances to say the least. When I went to the memorial service, a larger than life political figure that spoke said he didn’t know David as intimately, of course, as a family member and was on the opposite side, the receiving side of David’s observations. After another very well know person spoke, she said to me that she wondered why they put so much stock in her as a good friend to speak at the service. I felt invisible. I know David, I wanted to shout, I know the family, the grandchildren and the children, I can tell you what kind of person David was. I can tell you what made him laugh and what made him pause in wonder. I know! We had a relationship! The family however doesn’t know I exist. It’s strange to feel almost as if I’ve had a secret intimate affair with this man (not romantic of course, but intimate none-the-less) and be so unseen and unknown.

            At the memorial service I wanted to share those feelings with the family and with others there that I know but when I introduced myself to one of the sons (I don’t think he remembered me from David’s 80th birthday party) he laughed when I said I was the makeup artist from Press and wanted to hurry on to the next guest. Invisible. Then one of the producers from Press laughed as she introduced me to her husband joking about how close David and I were, like it was something not to be taken too seriously because, after all, how well could I have gotten to know someone while making them up? My feelings were trivialized because I was just the makeup artist in a world full of high powered politicians and journalists. Invisible.

            In the eulogy David was held up to be one of those that came down to knock on doors, talk to the regular guy and how wonderful an attribute that was for such a lofty Pulitzer prize winner and yet did anyone hear that or learn anything from that? Here I am!! The regular guy and…invisible – to everyone but David.

            Well, David, I know you are gone, not just a little gone but really and truly gone. I can feel that you didn’t wait around to finish any last minute business and that once you died, if there is a soul and another dimension to travel to, you will tear it up with exploration. I will miss your bright light, our silly giggles and all our sharing.