Friday’s Weekly Round-Up – 750 (Grauerholz, Schumacher, Von Prauenheim, Woods – R.I.P.)

James Grauerholz (1952-2026) was a difficult often controversial figure (Oliver Harris, doyen of William Burroughs scholarship, acknowledges this in his heart-felt appreciation and tribute). That said, he “got a lot done in the Burroughs universe”, his “erudition was impressively wide-ranging”,  (and) his “extensive and outstanding work as an editor” has, Harris accurately notes, “never been (fully) recognized”.

See also (in Rock and The Beat Generation)  Steven Taylor‘s lengthy appreciation – here

Ira Silverberg, in his announcement, wrote of James as a mentor (sketching out a little literary history):

“James Grauerholz arrived in New York City from Lawrence, KS in 1974; called Allen Ginsberg who set him up with William Burroughs as his amanuensis, a role that morphed into manager, editor, caretaker, and son – WSB adopted him.
I met James in 1981 at The Bar, the East Village clubhouse for arty Gays. Visiting from KS, where he returned a few years earlier, burnt out on NYC, he was in for WSB’s Cities of the Red Night launch, and The Red Night Tour with Laurie Anderson and John Giorno, a landmark career moment for all three. James and I fell in love; he stayed on; I missed classes at the BA/JD program I was in, living at WSB’s windowless Bowery Bunker; got a little chippy; accepted a wedding ring and one-way ticket to KS for my 19th bday; packed up my newly-minted mother-in-law WSB; and here we are.
Had I not met James, I would not have had this beautiful life working with writers.  My time with him and WSB was an education in a new canon; an apprenticeship in arts work; and my introduction to the notion of Queer family.  My devotion to them both, tested by James’ increasing instability through the years, is a defining part of my identity, for both better and worse.Better because being around WSB in my youth, I learned to be fearless in my advocacy of writers who challenge the status quo.  Worse because being around James in my youth, I learned patterns in relationships that I now understand were born of what was forced upon him in his youth.
These men who inspired me to become who I am were damaged and imperfect, as am I.  They taught me what I needed to know in life, art, love, and survival.  I’ve had to unlearn some of those things.  We are all in a continuum of outsiders, Queers, misfits, seers, who, by just being who we are, support the next generation, often imperfectly. I wouldn’t have it any other way.  RIP, James, may the next time around be easier for you.”

No “Round-Up” last week, and we start the year this week with the sad news of the passing
of, not only James Grauerholz but another dear friend – Ginsberg biographer, Michael Schumacher (see our detailed notes on Michael that we published on the Allen Ginsberg Project, back last April – here)

Michael was an extraordinary man, warm and generous, and will be greatly missed.  Bob Rosenthal, Allen’s long-time secretary, fondly remembers him:

“I first saw Michael’s heavy frame lumber up the three flights of stairs to Ginsberg’s apartment at East 12th Street in the late 1970’s. When an expected visitor called up from the street, we tossed the front door key down inside an unmatched sock.   I would go into the stairwell to encourage the flagging climber and make clear where the door was. Michael’s frame completely filled Allen’s narrow hallway. When we sat down to talk, his generous sense of humor made our introductions easy. He was starting a biography of Allen. To be a biographer is to be stalwart in the face of a very daunting task. The immensity of the task is to flesh out what is not in flesh. The biographer carries its subject in the head a long time before committing to paper.  Allen had twenty more years of life ahead of him.  This is why Michael and I stayed friends from that day forward.

I am from Chicago and my writing life sprung up in the Northwoods of Wisconsin. Michael was from Kenosha, Wisconsin, and that alone made me like him. Michael’s life at Allen’s started with him reading and editing journals. At lunch, he told me tales of shipwrecks on the Great Lakes.  Michael was a talker who actually listened closely as he talked. I was never aware of being interviewed. He was deeply compassionate and intelligent and most importantly a lover of people. Michael could verbalize his feelings for all subjects. He has a story for every occasion and these tales do not bore.

When Michael stayed at Allen’s, we frequented the Polish restaurants on First Avenue.  More than once, he ordered Bigos (sausage, cabbage, bacon), laughing broadly he exclaimed as it was placed before him, “This is one big greasy mess!” I have family in Sturgeon Bay and drove through Kenosha to go there.  I so looked forward to visiting Michael and seeing his home turf and eat at his favorite restaurant.  But alas he was away then.

Allen’s life is big enough for at least three biographies.  Michael is a prose stylist in that he reserves judgment and expresses empathy in his persona.  After Allen’s death in 1997, he and I started to talk on the phone regularly. We talked of everything: guys at the breakfast joint, our sons, our wives, poetry, and politics.  We told each other our stories. Maybe people complain about men that they don’t share their emotions.  Michael and I did that without becoming emotional.  We talked about Lake Michigan in the winter. We never praised each other; we were just always there at the end of the phone.  Three days ago.  Michael called to say good bye, he sounded strong and his voice was clear. I assured him that he will be well remembered and that his books will remain in print and that’s a life well lived.  I secretly did not believe him that he was dying. I keep waiting for Mike to call again.”

and two more obituary notes:

Rosa von Praunheim (1942-2025), R.I.P. – internationally-renowned  gay activist, pioneer and leading light in queer cinema (Allen appears, alongside Keith Haring, David Wojnarowicz and others, in his early 90’s (1990) documentary, “Silence = Death”  a portrait of responses of gay artists in New York City to the AIDS crisis).

That film can be accessed – here