Brooklynites Rhapsodize The Brooklyn Heath Ledger Took With Him
In this week's New York magazine, Brooklyn resident Samantha Hunt writes, "[Heath] Ledger donned all that was good and laid-back about living here as if it were his best role, the most independent film yet, and we his happy extras." How could man withstand the adoring furtive glances of thousands of Park Slope moms and Cobble Hill dads? It's no wonder he moved to Soho. The move, however, left some Brooklynites wondering what they had done wrong to drive the Ledgster into Manhattan. His death means that the answer to that ridiculous question shall forever be unanswered. But it doesn't prevent them from wrassling with it, in print!
Death returns Ledger from a star back to a son, a partner, a father-those relationships that actually matter. As fans, we are incidental. Still, the loss is compounded here because we'd gotten used to pretending he was like us. We thought he was safe. We thought he was ours. How did he slip back to Soho, where his brownstone and his baby meant so very little to death?
There are no cowboys on Dean Street. The magic of the movies is dampened here. Having admired Ledger from afar, having brushed shoulders and shopping carts with him, we are left wondering what it was we thought we saw flickering behind those brownstone walls.
