It’s a shame you don’t really know someone until you’re at her funeral. Arlene Friedman, editorial director of the Doubleday Book Clubs back in the 1990s, died last week at 76. When I think of Arlene, I remember fire-engine red hair, a bright yellow dress, a barking voice, and no filter. If she thought you looked terrible, she told you straight out. She created an electric atmosphere—you never quite knew what she’d say next. In those days, there was a not-always-so-friendly competition between Doubleday Book Club and The Literary Guild and I felt I had to take a side. In spite of the fact that Arlene brought me back to the NY office from Garden City, I was Sam Blum’s girl. This made for chilly relations with Arlene which I regret now. To have navigated safely the choppy waters between the two would've made me a much better sailor in my career today. According to her cousin Arnie, she loved Broadway, particularly “Gypsy.” I should have talked to her more about what I was seeing for The Fireside Theatre. I recognized that she had an uncanny ability to know what would sell to American readers. I should’ve asked her for the secrets to a best seller. Friends today chronicled her rise from secretary to VP in a man’s world. I should’ve begged her to tell me her stories. An agent recalled a buffet table at a book convention at which Arlene, never a slim woman, sighed, “Do you think I could make a pasta sandwich?” I should’ve brought food to her when she was sick. Too late now…a lyric from Burton Lane & Alan Jay Lerner’s film “Royal Wedding” which she no doubt could’ve sung word for word.
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