Michael Sean Mattor died of AIDS on Thursday, May 27 at the San Francisco Zen Center Hospice. He was 29 years old. Michael was born in Syosset, Long Island, New York, and moved with his family to southern California where he attended high school and college.
Michael relocated in 1987 to San Francisco. In the years he lived here he struggled to find happiness and acceptance in his life, and to avoid his wife. He was able to do both. Michael has had, and is still having, a profound effect on the people around him. His relentless humor and high spirits will haunt his friends forever.
Michael’s generosity and love was greatly appreciated and is greatly missed. His dying wish was that everyone would be happier, relax and enjoy life more. That’s what his survivors are striving for. Contributions may be made in Michael’s name to the
San Francisco Zen Center Hospice, 273 Page Street, SF, CA 94102. 
Bay Area Reporter, Volume 23, Number 29, 22 July 1993
If there is any bright side to COVID is that many of us have had the chance to relax and enjoy life more. Glad to think that Mike had the right idea nearly 30 years ago.
ReplyDeleteLouise here, Mike's best friend. I'm not into things being disclosed about why Michael died. That was private and personal, and he wouldn't have been into it, nor the joke about avoiding his wife. That wasn't the case. They were best friends. I would have married him even. Louise Bialik
ReplyDeleteI was Michael's orchestra teacher when he was an 11 year old in Levittown, NY. It was my first year teaching and I was 22. Michael played the cello and was an outstanding student; a charming and talented young man. I was sorry when he moved to CA. I just happened to think of him after all of these years and thought I'd look him up. Maybe he would remember me. How tragic to find that such a fine, fun-loving, person had such a short life. Rest in Peace
ReplyDeleteMy husband and I were Michael’s roommates from 1984 through 1986. I helped get him a job with ITT.
ReplyDeleteWe all loved and adored Michael. He was the most generous and sincere friend one could ever hope for. We were all living together in Studio City when he seroconverted and became HIV positive. He locked himself in his room and refused to come out. During this period one of our neighbors in the building we lived in committed suicide after his AIDS diagnosis. The times were bleak and horrible.
Michael escaped to San Francisco and we visited him a few times before he became ill. He once hosted an elegant soirée at a hotel on Nob Hill. We all dressed in tuxes and there was a pianist playing and the champagne flowed. I’ll always remember that and the incredible humor that Michael possessed and shared with everyone.
Before he died, he was known on the streets as Snow White. Because he had 7 T Cells.
We all gathered to remember his humanity and his gentle spirit when he died. He left me half of his ashes. The other half to his lover. After the memorial we went to the roof of his apartment building and released a hundred balloons with red ribbons. Then we took his ashes to some of his favorite haunts in San Francisco and we toasted him and said our goodbyes.
We buried so many friends during the late 80 s and 90s. An entire generation of young men felled as if they had gone to war and who never came back.
JAO
Michael was my best friend, and we lived together in Los Angeles and I would stay with him in San Francisco. He was also my wedding dress designer which he made from a parachute but as it was freezing cold at night, he decided to dress me in all funereal black as if going to my own grave. Boy did he call it! He gave me away at my wedding and I came running back to him to help me get out of that marriage, and he did, as his last act of kindness. Michael was astounding. His hearty happy laugh. His love for Patti Smith, Warhol, avant garde, his ability to dance. Oh did we dance. And specialized in Dance Performance. He did this incredible Scary Monsters Bowie tribute and Klaus Nomi rendition that freaked out my high school classmates. But I never knew he was a musician, too. We both sang. Joined every choir and were glued by the hip. He helped me escape an abusive childhood home and get me emancipated at age 14, then he signed on as my guardian when he turned 18. Michael didn’t die from AIDS, he died from bigotry of American government not providing medicine when it could have, and now no one dies from AIDS because the medicine is readily available— it was murder by the hateful, and I still cry about it.
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