Edward Milton Plunkett

I met Ed Plunkett, to the best of my memory, in 1978 or 9. He was an artist of the East Village ilk (although I think he lived on the Upper West Side) and cultivated an eccentric persona that wasn’t all that convincing. He was basically a nice guy and we served on various voluntary committees and pretty much were politically and artistically compatible. We were not friends really; we were just invited to the same parties and envelope stuffing’s and etc., and felt comfortable with each other. He would tell horrible old jokes and laugh uproariously at himself, which was probably the main reason I steered clear of him socially.

For about five years, starting in 1985, or so, I started getting envelopes of various sizes from him containing a mishmash of stuff: clippings from magazines; bits of theater reviews (not his), little original drawings-on-napkins (his), some tame pornography and just generally what seemed to me to be the detritus of his life that he was compiling in his eccentric way. He obviously never threw anything out and, frankly, it got kind of annoying because it was essentially just a bunch of crap. He even included bits and pieces of stuff I had written or drawn or contributed to various publications. Frankly, I was stumped by it and my annoyance grew until I eventually asked him to stop it. And he did.

Ed passed away on Dec. 31, 2011 at the ripe old age of 90 and I didn’t hear about it for about four months since he had moved away from New York and I lost touch with him and evidently his ill-health prevented communication with any mutual friends we might have had left. Hence the four-month delay in my finding out about his passing. He had moved back to Madison, WI and into the care of his close-knit family.

No one I know knew any basic details so I turned to Google and, sure enough, there was an obituary in a Madison paper with the name of a niece given as a contact. I wrote to her and she kindly sent me the full obituary and also a “salute” to Ed written by a family friend. It was the usual stuff you might expect except for one thing:

In the late 80’s and 90’s and maybe earlier, Ed had been part of a group of “artists” called “The New York School of Correspondence” whose “works-of-art” were these envelopes full of stuff. It was just a thing they did without fanfare or explanation. It was their art. This went on for years!

No, I can’t explain it. But, hey, without knowing it I was part of an eccentric East Village art movement or rather, to be blunt, its victim. Why did Ed choose me to be one of his recipients? Maybe he thought I was “with it” enough to understand. But I wasn’t and didn’t. But that train has left the station now so I’ll never know and I guess that’s part of the joke.

Further research has turned up a project commemorating “Mail Art Correspondence” honoring Ed and co-founder Ray Johnson that urges people to send envelopes to The Century Association in New York and they will mount an exhibition of these envelopes (they don’t say how) unopened. Having already been burned by Mr. Plunkett for at least five years I’m beginning to think this might be a hoax. If I actually do it will I look ridiculous? Or will I look ridiculous if I don’t? Hmm…I think I’d rather look foolish anonymously than become the laughingstock of a bunch of old East Village eccentrics, living or dead; tricked yet again by people smarter than me.