Last week was the first week back from Bouchercon in New Orleans. It also was Joe Hartlaub’s birthday.
All three of those things --- Bouchercon, the World Mystery Convention; New Orleans, the Crescent City of Jazz and Mardi Gras; and birthdays in general --- were beloved by my late and much-lamented friend.
Joe was a reviewer for Bookreporter.com, and he was one of the best. He loved crime fiction. And as an entertainment lawyer who was part of the music scene for decades, he knew a lot about where the actual bodies were buried. With his porkpie hat, twinkle and cherubically “wise guy” smile, he could have stepped out of the pages of Damon Runyon or “The Sopranos” with equal verve.
The last time I saw Joe in person was at an earlier Bouchercon in New Orleans, one of his favorite places in the world, and he regaled me with tales of music and the Mafia that would have made amazing books, either fact or fiction. Joe was a raconteur, a troubadour, a poet of music, art and culture.
That storytelling genius is evident in Joe’s exceptionally beautiful and often lyrical book reviews for Bookreporter. In the interest of full disclosure, I was the beneficiary of his talent as he was a fan of my work. But it wasn’t his support that made me a fan of Joe. It was his undeniable heart, understanding, literary perception, sensitivity and kindness that did that.
When a friend of his had a birthday, they’d be treated to a Sinatra-esque rendition of the “Happy Birthday” song by Joe. He never forgot, no matter what was going on. If you were ready to go out on the town and celebrate, he was right there with you. If you were suffering from the birthday blues, he was there to pull you up.
I’m thankful I have some of those birthday recordings saved. They --- and the act itself --- encapsulated Joe. He was exuberantly generous with his heart and soul, loved his family and friends to distraction, and lived the heck out of life being kind to people and enjoying the ride --- and the music.
Joe’s death was a shockwave for many of us. And while I am mourning him and missing him, and am very sad that I can’t give him a copy of my new book, THE RECKONING, one of his earlier reviews is quoted on the front page, which I know would’ve made him proud.
Do you know what it means to miss New Orleans? That’s a song lyric, but it’s also a universal truth. New Orleans is a unique, soul-filled place, redolent with history, knowing, generous, fragile and tough. Once you love it, it stays with you, wherever you are. I miss Joe Hartlaub the same way I miss his adopted favorite city. And every time I visit, I feel like I can hear him sing.
Happy Birthday, my friend. Happy Birthday.
