MICHAEL MALONE: Stanley Crouch, RIP.

Due to an unlikely circumstance (I was editor of Forbes ASAP, which had just published it annual Big Issue and I wanted to celebrate with some of its contributors), I traveled East from Silicon Valley and hosted a dinner one night at Elaine’s, the legendary New York City watering hole for writers.

I ended up having Tom Wolfe sitting on one side of me and Stanley Crouch on the other (and George Plimpton stopped by the say hello). Sounds like one of those mythical Gotham literary scene stories, doesn’t it? Well, not quite. Wolfe nudged me and said, “I’ve always hated this place. And the food is horrible.” He stuck around for about an hour, then politely excused himself.

On the other hand, Stanley Crouch looked to be at home — and we spent most of the evening talking. He was short, stocky guy, with a head like a cannonball, bulging eyes behind glasses, and the swaggering manner of a prizefighter. And he was very, very bright. He was also very opinionated on everything — as one would expect from one of our greatest critics. And funny, punctuating his often savage remarks with a low chuckle.

Speaking of Crouch’s opinions: Stanley Crouch Told It Like It Is. Exit quote from the latter post: “I’ve been applauded by black bus drivers, subway drivers, mechanics, various people who have come up to me and said, ‘I’m sure glad somebody is saying it.’ That’s enough for me. I don’t care what some trickle-down Negro Marxist says.“