Life in the Limelight: R.I.P. Fred Rothbell-Mista

In 1996, I was trying to find a name for a club I was going to run, and my right-hand man Kelly Cole reminded me of a name I always wanted to use -- "Life" -- and so it came to be. The name had great relevance to me as I was fighting a battle against tough odds for my own life, and my dear friend Fred Rothbell-Mista was fighting long odds in his long fight against AIDS. Life became a legendary club, and yesterday my legendary friend Fred passed after 17 years of not giving up. He was 63.

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Born to a comfortable middle-class background, Fred knew early on that he was different. He became comfortable with his gay sexual orientation in the late 60s and early 70s. He was brash, flamboyant, and sharp with a dangerous wit. I once walked over to him while he was chatting up R. Couri Hay and Milan at a table at the Redzone, and he scolded me, “This was the gayest table in the world, and now you’ve ruined it!” He backpacked through Europe and befriended Salvador Dali, Picasso, and Chagall. Later in life, he was the VIP host of the Limelight, and he knew everybody. A famous brush with death in an S&M murder scandal that brushed past art mogul Andrew Crispo sobered him up a bit, but not for long. One night he had me play a board game with a child named Drew Barrymore in the Limelight VIP. Fred knew everyone, and everyone adored Fred. Every celeb in town was at his calling.

In the late 80s, Fred, with my old Manic Panic buddies Tish and Snooky Bellomo performed as Rocco Primavera and the New Jersey Nightingales. He was like that crooner in Woody Allen’s Broadway Danny Rose, telling awful jokes in between awful renditions of Sinatra and Tony Bennett. Although it seemed like pure camp, I knew better. At least once in every set, Fred gave it his all, and you could see that he wanted to be good—really good. He wanted to be loved as much as any person I’ve ever met. His nephew Gary Chetkof tells me that, when Gary was a child, Uncle Fred taught him and the rest of the kids about the Beatles and Warhol and Ginsberg and Dylan and art and literature and pot. He gave them their culture, and later in life, Uncle Fred would ignore the grownup nephews and teach their children the same lessons. In his last years frolicking and teaching the kids at family gatherings in Woodstock, he was a proud Uncle Fred. He was at home surrounded by 20-somethings who relished in his stories. He was a gateway and an oracle to a world of wonder and light.

Fred could be gruff. He rarely tolerated fools. Yet he had the brightest, most inquisitive eyes, his kindness was boundless, and his generosity kept him from much-deserved riches. Gary asked me what he was, and then found the answer himself. “He always had the spirit of youth and an innocence that attracted many to him. He was a writer, a philosopher, an artist, a showman, a comic, an historian, a traveler. He loved life, he loved the party, and he loved the limelight”

Rest in peace, Fred Rothbell-Mista. You showed me a fabulous world and opened so many doors for me. You scolded me when my head got big. You saw through all my shit and never let up on me. You helped me become someone that I could look at in the mirror. When my world caved in, you showed me how to stand straight and look it in the eye. You taught me to never try to forget the cards I was dealt, but to play them like they were winners. You never felt sorry for me and never let me feel sorry for myself. In your 17-year battle against AIDS, you never complained to me and never allowed me to feel sorry for you. You showed me how to fight for the life I wanted, and of all the mobsters, cops, and tough guys I ever met ... well, none of them came close to you. I’m so sad to say goodbye. We’re all so lucky to have known you.

Also see the tribute to Fred Rothbell-Mista by others who knew him.