Harvey Fierstein on Broadway’s ‘Horrifying’ Shutdown, Writing His Memoir—and ‘Gentleman Callers’

The writer and actor Harvey Fierstein said he would ring me, not me him. He doesn’t give his number out, he said. “Everyone dials me every minute. I don’t answer the phone anymore, do you?” he asked, in that distinctive Fierstein brogue—when it’s joking or chatting, it’s like sandpaper you want to hug. In anger, it’s like a buzzsaw that could scythe you at a hundred feet.

His phone system recognizes and announces names, so Fierstein can screen who gets through to him at home in Ridgefield, Connecticut, where he has lived for 35 years. Or as he calls it: a “small fictional town.”

There are never nice surprises by phone these days, Fierstein noted. “It’s all, ‘We have noticed you have done this or that thing,’ or ‘Your credit score has gone down. We can help you with that.’”

Read more at The Daily Beast.