Remembering E.L. Doctorow, A Literary Legend

“E.L. Doctorow was one of America’s greatest novelists. His books taught me much, and he will be missed.”

—President Barack Obama (via Twitter)

Every day, over the last few weeks, playwright Joe Pintauro would look at the house across John Street from his own, and wonder if E.L. Doctorow was home.

Mr. Pintauro had grown accustomed to the acclaimed writer bursting through his screen door over the past four decades, brimming with ideas bubbling from his sharp mind. They would discuss politics and literature, gardening and family life. Every word was clear, strong and pertinent—even surprising, at times.

Mr. Doctorow had the aura of a man who had spent an eternity in thought. In his writing, he created universes complexly weaving fact and fiction, blurring the lines between truth and imagination, with a dozen novels—most famously “Ragtime,” “Billy Bathgate” and “The Book of Daniel”—plus volumes of short fiction, countless essays and his one stage drama.

He was kind to writers. Nurturing to students. Engaging with people. He loved folk music, a challenging tennis match and a good literary party, rubbing elbows with the thunderous names he called his friends. He was serious and magnetic, with an unexpected sense of humor, a family man deeply concerned with humanity.

And, above all else, a storyteller.

Mr. Doctorow died on Tuesday, July 21, in Manhattan, leaving behind his wife of 60 years, Helen, their three children—Richard Doctorow, Jenny Doctorow Fe-Bornstein and Caroline Doctorow Gatewood—and four grandchildren.

“His presence, even in my mind, is still so strong,” Mr. Pintauro said. “I just feel him around. He crowded through our screen porch into our house and our life. It’s so beautiful. He was such a terrific man.”

“It’s hard for us to believe,” Mr. Pintauro’s partner, Greg Therriault, added. “I’m looking at his house right now out my window. Just knowing he won’t be working there and be in his garden is a great sadness.”

Edgar Lawrence Doctorow was born on January 6, 1931, in the Bronx, named for Edgar Allan Poe by his father, David, who sold musical instruments, and his mother, Rose, a pianist. His childhood was immersed in the arts, from visual to theatrical to literary, which was ever apparent in his work, according to illustrator James McMullan, who was his longtime tennis partner.

“It was very unusual for a writer to pay so much attention to visual artifacts in the way he did,” he said. “He worked very hard, and I think tennis was one of the things he gave himself permission to do to take off. He was very impatient with me, because I wasn’t aggressive enough with the net. But, you know,” he laughed, “he would make a joke about artists not having that kind of final push.”

Mr. Doctorow earned a bachelor’s degree in philosophy in 1952 from Kenyon College in Ohio before studying drama for a year at Columbia University. That’s where he met aspiring actress Helen Setzer. Soon after, he was drafted into the U.S. Army and stationed in Germany, where the couple married in 1954.

After his discharge, he held down a string of odd jobs—a reservations clerk at La Guardia Airport, a script reader for CBS Television and Columbia Pictures—all the while penning his first book, “Welcome to Hard Times,” which was published in 1960. Fame wouldn’t come until his third novel, “The Book of Daniel,” in 1971—the same year Nina Gordon took a creative writing class taught by Mr. Doctorow at Sarah Lawrence College in Yonkers.

“He was a fairly young guy and he was very hip.” Ms. Gordan recalled. “It was a gift to be taught by him. He had a way of getting to the heart of things and giving constructive criticism while encouraging you to explore new ways of expressing yourself. ‘The Book of Daniel’ was unlike anything I had ever read, but he really wasn’t quite the icon that he was later in life.”

To those who knew him on a personal level, Mr. Doctorow acted perfectly ordinary, Mr. Pintauro said, though his literary talent and social life were anything but. “Ragtime,” an epic that won him the National Book Critics Circle Award for fiction and was adapted into both a film and Broadway musical, shattered complacency and forced audiences to discuss racial injustice, women’s rights, the American labor movement and tabloid journalism.

“He wrote from an active point of view. He looked at where we were and he wrote in the moment, sociologically in the present and ahead of his time,” Mr. Pintauro said. “He made such great sense that you just wanted to listen to him. You just wished every politician in the world could hear what he had to say. He was that kind of person. You knew that he knew the way things ought to be, the way things had to come, the way things had to turn.”

It was his entertaining narratives following a cast of historical and fictional characters that captivated readers, explained Kathryn Szoka, co-owner of Canio’s Books in Sag Harbor, earning him the recognition as one of America’s greatest writers.

“I admired his ability to speak of issues of social conscience,” Ms. Szoka said. “He spoke out about all the wars, issues of social disparity, having freedom of writing and people doing what they can from where they are. His work will stand the test of time. He lives on through his words. Life passes on through pages for great writers, and his life is definitely there in those pages he has written.”

Production designer Tony Walton has read every book by Mr. Doctorow, and proudly owns—and champions—them all, though especially “Ragtime.” “Whenever I happened to be considering a new design assistant for my studio, I would invariably give them ‘Ragtime’ to read, and make my hiring decision based on their reaction to it,” Mr. Walton said, “as it was far and away my favorite book for many years. In fact, one of my greatest regrets is that, despite some early and delightful invitations to do so, I ultimately did not get to design the Broadway musical of it.”

The pair worked together in 1979 on “Drinks Before Dinner,” Mr. Doctorow’s only play—“It wasn’t amongst the best received of our collaborations, which may have put off Edgar writing any more for the theater, which is a great shame,” Mr. Walton said.

Not long after, Mr. Walton said he was shocked to see Mr. Doctorow standing at his door in Sag Harbor, looking for a quiet place to write. His daughter, Caroline, had just started a rock group, he offered by way of explanation.

“I remember, once, he came over with Bob Fosse to visit, and he made a crack, ‘Oh, somebody’s been doing some really interesting set decoration,’” Mr. Walton recalled. “He was part of a group of friends who Bob was giving dance classes to—people who you wouldn’t expect to be focusing on something as relatively dainty as dancing. He was a totally delightful guy. He was really just smart as a whip and tremendous fun.”

When Mr. Doctorow finished “Loon Lake,” he took the manuscript straight to his editor, James Epstein, who was working at Random House at the time. And as he read through the pages, Mr. Epstein couldn’t believe it wasn’t previously edited.

He would come to learn, through their 40-year working relationship, that every manuscript would be nearly flawless, the editor recalled: perfectly typed, impeccably written. It was always a joy to see Mr. Doctorow walking down the path to his house on Union Street, he recalled.

But in “Loon Lake,” there was just one mistake, Mr. Epstein said. The author had put the body of water in the wrong location.

“No, I put it in the right place,” Mr. Doctorow had said.

Mr. Epstein showed him on the map.

“That’s not the right place,” Mr. Doctorow countered.

“I don’t recall ever having to say, ‘Edgar, there are some things we need to talk about,’” Mr. Epstein said. “He had that rhythm and that knack. He was a kind of genius. And, by the way, a completely wonderful man. And irresistible. And I loved him.

“I can’t believe he’s not here anymore. I hope I meet him again soon.”