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Shepperd’s circle of friends and admirers has always run wide. He recalled that former Syracuse Stage artistic director Arthur Storch once invited him to a party, saying, “I want the whole range of society to be here. The mayor is coming, and I’m counting on you to be the dregs.” And for the roast, between the throbbing rhythms of the Blacklites, some of Shepperd’s former students from Auburn Prison testified, choking back emotion, how their teacher transformed lives.
On the dais, however, the foremost speakers came from the prominent and powerful. Strange to say, when one remembers Shepperd’s defunct weekly The Nickel Review, which was closed down right after it celebrated Lenin’s birthday, most of those voices were Republican.
State Sen. John DeFrancisco was the quickest. Emerging from the darkened audience in a wide-brimmed but crushed fedora and oversized clown shoes, he barked, “A roast? A roast? I thought this was supposed to be a Walt look-alike contest.” He then handed over the hat and shoes, and stomped out in his stocking feet.
While not usually known as a comedian, County Executive Joanie Mahoney turned into a blonde Rita Rudner, with zingers under the mild facade. After saying how much she appreciated Shepperd’s conscientious reportage, Mahoney admitted she just didn’t want to knock the guy. “I’ve known him since I was about 12 years old, when my father {former Syracuse politician Bernie} brought him home. {Two-beat-pause} I thought he was a homeless person.” Praising Shepperd’s steadfeastness, she added, “He really hasn’t changed much over the years. He’s still wearing the same sneakers.”
Mahoney then introduced District Attorney William Fitzpatrick, who, she said, “is much funnier than I am.” That proved to be right on the money as Fitzpatrick combined the flippancy of Bob Hope with the aggression of Don Rickles, with two dozen darts flying in every direction.
“Walt has a lot of friends. Assemblyman Bill Magnarelli put his career on the line just so Walt could pee in the women’s restroom. (A reference to candidate Rick Guy’s muchmocked robocall.)
“When Walt went to Colgate University he was a great student, and he graduated with a 3.8—but that was his blood alcohol level.
“You’d think a guy who graduated from Colgate, a school named for toothpaste, might try to use some once in a while.”
Not everyone came to mock. Assembly candidate Sam Roberts just gave Walt a hug and let him off without a blow. Local author Jackie Warren-Moore read a heartfelt poem with the refrain, “A poet with a top hat and purple Converse.”
Still others came to celebrate and boogie.
Although it was hard to make out identities on the darkened dance floor, jumping with kids from Shepperd’s teen troupe The Media Unit, one of the most distinctive figures was a thin, lithe woman with the body of 20-year-old and kick-ass boots. It was one-time New Times writer Nancy Larraine Hoffmann, looking no worse for wear after 20 years in the state Senate and six years out of office.
The evening ran fast, from 6:30 to 8 p.m., with Shepperd making frequent exits and entrances as the Black Lites kept the tempo hot. At the end Shepperd emerged in a new birthday suit, jacket and trousers of brilliant crimson. Walt will not trudge off into the sunset. Instead he will wear it. o
Man of the hour: Walt Shepperd’s 70th birthday was the occasion for a fund-raiser for his beloved Media Unit at the Palace Theatre (above). More than cake and ice cream, however, a galaxy of local notables, including District Attorney Bill Fitzpatrick (left), roasted the man about town. Also in attendance, Nancy Larraine Hoffmann (top. right), and state Sen. John DeFrancisco, whose gift to Walt (top, left) stands alone.
