On Feb. 10, 2022, Gary McAvay ’75, passed away in New York City. At Denison, he earned a BFA in theater and film, followed by an MFA at Brooklyn College, later to become president of Columbia Artists Theatricals. McAvay represented hundreds of artists and produced many shows such as Cats, Chicago, Sunset Boulevard, Blue Man Group, and Stomp, and he was featured in the memorial segment on the televised 2022 Tony Awards.
Author and friend Ann Hagedorn ’71 shares memories of a remarkable Denisonian:
To write less than a book about Gary McAvay is like trying to narrate the history of Broadway while standing in line for a play — nearly impossible! But for now, let’s call the book, The Gift of Gary.
The Gift of Gary would be brimming with Gary quotes: “The greatest things we do in life are not always on our resumes.” He loved the line from the musical, Matilda: “Without stories we’re just eating machines with shoes.” Another favorite resonated deeply with his NYC friends: True wealth is having “a vault filled with stories to tell and a pack of friends who have the same.”
Ah, the NYC gatherings of theatre-bound Denisonians: a lively chapter for the book! Talents galore in that crowd. I first realized Gary’s greatness at an early ’80s party hosted by Denison grad Susan Morse ’71 in her Upper West Side apartment. Snow showers began early that evening and by the time Gary and I left, few cabs were navigating the mounting drifts. Being the gentleman he was, Gary offered to walk me home — four miles through gusts of flurries.
Home was Greenwich Village, in the basement apartment of a brownstone at the corner of Fifth Avenue and Washington Square Park. I worked at NYU and thanks to that job, I had just met the son of The Wizard of Oz lyricist, a fact that was surely the catalyst for what Gary would later call “The Snow Show.” As flurries grew into a blizzard, we sang the Broadway musical repertoire, sometimes adding our own lyrics. That magical walk started a friendship that would last for more than four decades — one of those invisible gifts tucked inside my Denison diploma.
In the years ahead, there would be more walks with Gary. They connected him to the soul of the city; he called it “the vat of hopes and dreams.” An especially memorable stroll followed one of my book launches. Several Denisonians attended; after book signings, Gary organized eight of us for a hike down Fifth Avenue. On that clear September night, the full moon popping into view between tall buildings, we followed our charismatic friend to the Algonquin Hotel, famed for writer Dorothy Parker and her Round Table of literary elites. Gary, of course, had reserved seats for us at that iconic table.
Occasionally, we would meet at Nat Sherman’s on East 42nd to purchase a few fine cigars, and then walk to a restaurant on West 77th. After dinner, we would venture to a bench near the American Museum of Natural History and sit for hours, enjoying cigars and regaling one another with stories from our work. We both felt that our careers were callings, not jobs; and we agreed that the seeds had been planted at Denison, where we learned how to discover — and dedicate our lives to — what we truly were meant to do.
The last time I saw Gary was in December 2021. We met for brunch on the Upper West Side and, as always, discussed recent projects. But for the first time ever, we talked about death. Soon, we were volunteering to write each other’s eulogies, depending, of course, on who left the planet first. Deal? Deal. Sealed with a handshake. No walks that day; we were both on tight schedules. I remember his hug as I opened a cab door, and then waved goodbye.
The eulogy, thus far: “Dynamic and kind. Hardworking and fun. Immensely devoted to his family and friends. Wise, creative, clever, and brave. His understanding of Broadway was brilliant. Life without sharing stories with such a wondrous human — and especially hearing him laugh — has been quite an adjustment for everyone who knew him well.”
