CAN’T HELP LOVING THAT MAN OF MINE, 2014. Rebecca Luker with her husband, Danny. Burstein, at the Tony Awards.
TWO DAYS BEFORE CHRISTMAS, Rebecca Luker died at a New York City hospital. She was 59, much too young. It had been less than a year since the revelation of her A.L.S. (Lou Gehrig’s disease) diagnosis, much too soon. She had been starring on Broadway, evolving from starry-eyed ingénue to sad-eyed matron, for three decades. And that was not nearly long enough.
When she and I met, in 1998, it was for a New York Times interview at a coffee shop (her choice of venue) on West 72nd. She was beautiful, gifted, radiant and newly in love, so I kind of wanted to hate her. But we had a couple of things in common.
MEMORIES, 2011. Luker, with the cast of “Death Takes a Holiday.” Her character was an Italian duchess mourning her son.
We’d grown up in neighboring Southern small towns, so close together that our high school football teams had played each other. Much more important, we’d both recently bought pot racks for our kitchens — and were equally thrilled with all the possibilities.
The theater editor (Andrea Stevens, at the time) was disappointed in the resulting article, because it didn’t concentrate enough on how sexy Luker had been in her most recent role. In an Encores! production of “The Boys From Syracuse,” she was a love-starved wife who never knew her husband had a twin. The editor was probably right about the article, but right after that, Luker returned to type, playing a nun-turned-nanny in “The Sound of Music.” With that clear, crystal soprano voice, casting directors just couldn’t resist making her the innocent.
I had the honor of writing Luker’s Times obituary. I’d hoped it wouldn’t need to be published for years and years. Here’s another look at her life.
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