I first met Ira around 1994 when I was an editor of one of the inflight magazines published by Emphasis Hong Kong. He came to pitch some photos—I don’t remember the topic—and I thought they were really good and said I can get a writer and we’re set. I said thanks and thought that was the end of it. Instead, Ira sat there looking a bit down. I then asked the question that set off a lifelong friendship: “Anything wrong?”
Ira then launched into a long, somewhat hard to follow monologue about a troubled relationship with some Swedish girlfriend. I didn’t know him or who was talking about, but the raw honesty, the rebel persona and the handsome, hang-dog look, I knew we were going to be great friends. And just like that we were.
While at Emphasis I wrote stories to his photographs. Other mutual writer friends did as well. When I left to be editor at Prestige Hong Kong, we continued to work together off and on. I remember an invite to a new wellness resort in Thailand and figured us two happily unhealthy misfits were the right candidates to see if it really worked. After the second or third night of drinking plant juice, eating salads and soup, Ira and I snuck out at night like prisoners breaking out and headed into town to drink beers and eat meat.
When I began freelancing Ira and I would team up now and then for work--including Prince Sihanouk's bizarre birthday party in Phnom Penh--but also, when my wife and I moved to Bangkok, he’d often visit for another spiritual tattoo, have a meal with us, and we'd wander the surreal sois together looking for a mango shake and things for him to photograph.
We shared a lot like best friends or close brothers. I have other stories--like having to flee a nightclub in Kuala Lumpur--but best shared celebrating in person with lots of drinks. Zeny and I hope to do this with Hilary, Gina, Lauren when we visit New York, and any mutual friends of Ira whose paths I hope to cross.
I will miss him very much, but cherish wonderful fun and adventurous memories of times spent together. I am lucky and blessed to have been his friend, and better for it. He was a mensch and a meshugganah in the best sense of those words. He was kind and caring, rowdy and restless, and with his amulets and camera around his neck, he fit right into the fabric of Southeast Asia.
God bless Ira, he certainly didn’t deserve to leave us this soon. But he faced any of his medical challenges with courage, grace and humor.
The poet Rilke wrote in a longer poem:
But to have been
this once, completely, even if only once:
to have been one with the earth, seems beyond any undoing.
It does give one hope and faith. Now to put on some rock n’ roll and have a generous pour of single malt. I am sure Ira is in some great bar or nightclub in space looking down. I can actually hear his deep laughter.
Love and hugs,
Paul & Zeny
