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Former Met Director Thomas Hoving Dies At 78

hoving1209.jpg Colorful and controversial former Metropolitan Museum of Art director Thomas Hoving died in his Manhattan home yesterday of cancer; he was 78 years old. Hoving headed the museum between 1967 and 1977 and wrote in his memoir, Making the Mummies Dance that he had to be "a gifted connoisseur, a well-trained scholar, an aesthete, a patient diplomat, a deft fundraiser, an executive, and a conciliator" as well as “part gunslinger, ward heeler, legal fixer, accomplice smuggler, anarchist, and toady."

While he had his critics (one author and art historian said he was a "perennial thorn in the side of the museum mafia"), many credit Hoving with breathing life back into the Met — including bringing the most popular exhibit in its history there (treasures from Egyptian King Tutankhamun's tomb). He also allowed people to eat on the steps, and NYMag notes that he's responsible for the colorful banners hanging down advertising the big exhibits. Former Met director Philippe de Montebello said, "I loved working for Tom. He was exhilarating, scintillating, brilliant."

The NY Times has a lengthy tribute to the man, who they quote as saying: “Great art should be shown with great excitement.” And in July, he said of his cancer diagnosis, "I'm a goner. But I have no regrets. I've had a terrific life."

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Comments [rss]

  • MrManhattan

    "a gifted connoisseur, a well-trained scholar, an aesthete, a patient diplomat, a deft fundraiser, an executive, and a conciliator" as well as “part gunslinger, ward heeler, legal fixer, accomplice smuggler, anarchist, and toady."

    In other words: the quintessential New Yorker.

    RIP Mr. Hoving.

  • jchez

    "I'm a goner. But I have no regrets. I've had a terrific life."

    Few people can ever say that on their death bed.

    Resquiescat in Pace

  • Clarice City

    Making the Mummies Dance is an excellent read- very amusing- especially his accounts of interacting with vapid donors.

  • maevemealone

    It's actually a terrible book written by a man lacking any humility. You could start patting yourself on the back now and keep going until you die of old age and you'd still come up short for how often he does it.

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