Clancy Sigal was my brilliant friend. We met while he was living in London and had an instant rapport, supporting one another at a time when both our marriages were failing.
Writing had priority over everything else for Clancy, and he pushed me into becoming a writer. We once watched a sunset. “Describe the sky in a way nobody else has done,” he said.
He constantly urged me to be open about my ideas and experience and “write it all down”. Then he would scribble comments on what I had written. In this way, he enabled me to end a disastrous affair and also to cut out tedious paragraphs.
With his constant encouragement, I was eventually able to become a published author. After he moved to Los Angeles and married Janice, who became just as important to me, we corresponded regularly for 30 years.
Clancy loved expounding and arguing, often taking a diametrically opposed view to received wisdom just for the hell of it. He liked goading people into questioning preconceived views. With his enormous energy, life for him was always full speed ahead. He was also endlessly tolerant and forgiving, except when condemnation was called for. I was touched by his fight for underprivileged and exploited people, his hatred of mindless authority and pretension, his enthusiasm, curiosity and humour.
For years, I read his passionate arguments on whatever preoccupied him – usually the shortcomings of politicians and the betrayal of socialist ideals – even if I often disagreed with his analysis. It didn’t matter, because our dialogue was always affectionate.
