The Indescribable Blessing That Was the Brilliant, Joy-Making, Mold-Breaking Dito van Reigersberg

Remembering Dito van Reigersberg, aka Martha Graham Cracker / Photograph by Kyle Kielinski

The first time I saw the Martha Graham Cracker Cabaret was at L’Étage in 2008, not long after I moved here. This was just two or three years after Dito van Reigersberg debuted as the eponymous Martha, the wildly talented chanteuse with a big voice, bigger heart, and biggest stage presence. One of my colleagues, Victor Fiorillo — longtime senior writer for this magazine — was her keyboardist and musical arranger. He’d launched the Cabaret alongside Dito — a trained actor who was also a co-founder of the now-renowned, much-decorated Pig Iron theater company — and they’d grown it into a real group, with a real following. Martha, of course, was its center. Its heart.

I didn’t fully understand this when I agreed to join — somewhat trepidatiously — a group of magazine friends who had raved and raved about this towering, hairy, hilarious drag queen who could sing (really, really sing), who had a way with an audience. (A way with an audience that particular night meant perching his six-foot-two, halter-dressed frame on the lap of a surprised but surprisingly game straight guy in khakis and a button-down; it meant bantering with a woman about, as I recall it, the dating scene in Philly, and also maybe about … nuns? Or Catholics? Or something like that. Anyway, if you have ever seen Martha at work, you know exactly what I mean by “a way with an audience.”)

And that was that. He wore sequins and platform heels; he shimmied and samba’d and draped himself over literally everything — a piano, an audience member, the stage. He sounded to me a bit like Cat Stevens, if Cat Stevens sang Prince and Led Zeppelin. He also belted Hedwig, and I think Whitney, maybe Aretha, some David Bowie. I cannot exactly remember the set list now; this was almost two decades ago. What I do remember is that while I was still in the very early in the stages of falling in love with my new city, with Philly, I also fell in love with Martha. These loves have always felt intertwined to me.

From the beginning, it was abundantly clear that she, Martha (and he, Dito) was a singular talent, a part of what makes this place special, a radiant beacon of joy and culture and community and artistic brilliance. This only became more apparent over the years and decades, as he consistently sold out shows and headlined everywhere from Joe’s Pub in New York to South Street’s TLA to the Kimmel Center for Philadelphia Orchestra concerts to children’s and family shows at the PMA. And Philly is just not fully Philly without him. Or her.

But mostly him.

I’m not alone in feeling this way, or in saying it. Dito van Reigersberg — who passed one week ago (the first day of Pride month, as it’s been noted) from complications of a bone marrow transplant after having battled a rare type of blood cancer — has now been memorialized in the past week too many times to count, with odes and tributes pouring in from everywhere: from loads of fans and numerous colleagues, from loved ones and Broadway stars. It’s abundantly clear that Dito has left behind a city and community just aching and desperate to talk about this remarkable person—his prodigious talent, his gentle soul, his erudite humor, his generosity, his physical stature and hairy shoulders and the way he made everyone in his audience feel seen, or at the very least, feel delighted.

Martha Graham Cracker was a gift to Philly. / Photograph by Kyle Kielinski

This — delight! — is what he aimed to do, he told me once. Last year, on the occasion of Martha Graham Cracker Cabaret’s 20th anniversary (and not long after he made his return to stage after his cancer treatment, which at the time, had worked and fixed him, and given him — and us — more precious time), I interviewed him for this magazine. We had an hour reserved; he generously stayed to talk for at least twice that. And in that window of time, I fell in love even more. I know: As a journalist, you’re not supposed to say something like this. But I am also a human, and it is the truth.

We chatted about drag and life in the time of Trump (“It’s scary, of course, in terms of all my LGBTQ brethren and sistren”) and about our mutual love for Dolly Parton. We talked politics and religion (“All the taboos,” I said; “This is a terrible dinner party,” he riffed), and his upbringing with two loving parents; we talked over his rise into Martha stardom; his beloved husband, the choreographer Matthew Neenan; and his relationship with my colleague Victor, whom he called “Ruff-Ruff” for Victor’s ostensibly gruff, down-to-business, let’s-get-on-with-it mannerisms. Dito, full of love, told the story of how Ruff-Ruff had once helped organize a drive to help find a bone marrow donor when he, Dito, needed one; I noted how often I saw my usually serious, oft-impenetrable reporter colleague giggle — literally giggle — at the keyboard at Martha’s on-stage antics. This is another happy memory I carry.

Here is what Dito said when I asked him about why he thought Martha resonated so much with so many people:

“Oh, God, I have no idea. Maybe it’s a bunch of things coming together. If you’re just a person who likes music, hopefully the music side of the show is satisfying to you. And maybe there’s a feeling like anything could happen, which is exciting and weirdly liberating. My favorite compliment I’ve ever gotten is ‘My face hurt after your show, I was laughing and smiling so much.’ That’s all I really want: people to go on a crazy journey with a drag queen and have a great time and a deep belly laugh.”

Well, he gave us that. He gave us more than that. People laughed until they cried; there were times they cried until they laughed. Martha was magic. Dito, more so. The city — and anyone who saw him perform — has been enriched by his talent, his brain, his humor, and his heart. We were blessed to have him (and her), and are blessed to be able to remember him, the gift that he was to this place.

If you feel similarly moved and grateful, I’ll share with you what his dear friends and collaborators posted on the Pig Iron site: In lieu of flowers, you can send memories, poems, artwork, photos, videos, and messages to Dito’s family. They will be able to view all of these when they feel ready. Lovefordito@pigiron.org.