City & Region
Tuesday, June 17, 1997

A rather short T-shirt.

It was warm in that second-floor apartment on Race Street near 34th, but not that warm.

He ushered me into his kitchen and returned to peeling the veggies that he'd been preparing for dinner for himself and his longtime girlfriend, Holly Maddux.

And so that's how the interview was conducted -- with Ira readying the dinner food and washing the lunch dishes like any good househusband.

At no time did either of us mention his nakedness. In some circles, in those days, it would have been in bad taste to do so.

But Ira Einhorn's extraordinary choice of raiment seemed to have a purpose other than comfort. It seemed a way of dominating those around him -- of expressing his preferences and priorities in a way that commanded acquiescence.

One night in the '70s, I was talking with a friend at the bar of the old La Terrasse restaurant on Sansom near 34th Street that was a favorite hangout of Ira's.

And when I recounted my kitchen episode with Ira, the friend grew angry, then laughed. Once, when my friend and his girlfriend had gone to dinner at Ira's apartment, Ira had greeted them just as he had me.

Maddux had been there and had been nicely dressed, but had said nothing about Ira's truly remarkable selection of dinner wear.

About halfway through the dinner, my friend looked over and blurted something like: ``Ira, go put on your trousers.''

And quite politely, Ira did.

The subject was not mentioned again the whole evening.

You see, my friend said with a bit of remembered anger, Ira had won.

With Ira, it was always what was called, at that time, a power trip.

Ira needed to know that he was in control. And he needed to let you know, without saying so, that he knew you knew he was in control.