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The New York Times

Beau Willimon in his Brooklyn apartment with his dining table, with all the scratches filled.
Funny how a piece of furniture can bring strangers together.

Beau Willimon and his friend were looking for a table for their apartment in Carroll Gardens, Brooklyn.

On the Web site Craigslist, they saw an elegant oval dining table with a rich mahogany finish: $65. Mr. Willimon called the number. The man at the other end, a Mr. Klein (he never volunteered a first name) would not deliver the table unless he had the money in hand. So Mr. Willimon and his friend took the long train ride to Crown Heights. This was eight weeks ago, on a damp Tuesday night.

A $65 Table, and a Tale to Tell Around It

The New York Times
Beau Willimon in his Brooklyn apartment with his dining table, with all the scratches filled.

Funny how a piece of furniture can bring strangers together.

Beau Willimon and his friend were looking for a table for their apartment in Carroll Gardens, Brooklyn.

On the Web site Craigslist, they saw an elegant oval dining table with a rich mahogany finish: $65. Mr. Willimon called the number. The man at the other end, a Mr. Klein (he never volunteered a first name) would not deliver the table unless he had the money in hand. So Mr. Willimon and his friend took the long train ride to Crown Heights. This was eight weeks ago, on a damp Tuesday night.

The building was anonymous, the fluorescent-lighted stairway dreary. Mr. Klein, an intense, somewhat awkward man with a speckled beard, would not let them into his apartment. He brought out the table legs. They were gorgeous, gracefully curved, unadorned.

The tabletop, Mr. Klein explained, was in his van. He left and returned in a beat-up Dodge Caravan with no mirrors inside or out, jammed with furniture. The tabletop, what Mr. Willimon could see of it, had some scratches. Mr. Klein said he would fill them at Mr. Willimon’s apartment. He went inside to get his repair kit. Mr. Willimon and his friend stood in the drizzle for 20 minutes.

By now it was clear to Mr. Willimon that Mr. Klein was a little odd. Mr. Willimon, 28, is used to dealing with characters. He is a playwright and worked on Howard Dean’s presidential campaign. “It’s Craigslist,” Mr. Willimon said. “I’m like, this is a slightly eccentric New Yorker who I have to deal with to get this table.”

Mr. Willimon squeezed into the passenger seat with a Victorian-style armchair upside-down in his lap. There was no room for his friend. She took the train back.

Mr. Klein drove very slowly. Mr. Willimon advised him when it was safe to change lanes. Mr. Klein talked about growing up in Brooklyn, about how much Crown Heights had changed. He guessed correctly that Mr. Willimon was from Missouri.

To get at the tabletop they had to unload the entire vehicle, including a dresser that Mr. Willimon swears weighed several hundred pounds. Moving it took a long time, even with two men working together.

“His skullcap kept falling off, and every time it fell, he would stop and pick it up,” Mr. Willimon said.

While Mr. Klein parked, Mr. Willimon relaxed at his new table and lighted a cigarette. Mr. Klein came in and had a coughing fit. Mr. Willimon opened a window, and Mr. Klein went over and pressed his face against the screen. Mr. Willimon brought him a glass of water. Mr. Klein asked, “Can you bring it back half full?”

Mr. Klein went to work filling the scratches, more of them than Mr. Willimon could see. “We should do two coats,” he said. When he was done with the tabletop he asked for a rug so that he could kneel to minister to the legs.

Mr. Klein stopped only after Mr. Willimon asked him to. “He was like, ‘Well, if you’re happy with it, we’re done,’ ” Mr. Willimon said. It was nearly midnight.

Mr. Willimon thought about Mr. Klein often. He got a lot of conversational mileage out of the story of the table. He considered writing a short play about the episode.

Late in February, Mr. Willimon served roast lamb at the table for a friend’s birthday. He told the story again. His friends chuckled.

A few days later, Frederick Klein was driving near his home, looking for a legal parking spot at 1:30 in the morning, when someone fired three shots at his van. One of them killed him almost instantly.

Mr. Willimon read about it. “When I got home I put the article down on the table,” he said. “And I looked at it. And I thought, this is really weird.”

Mr. Klein’s shooting remains unsolved. The police have not been able to find a witness. The table sits 10 feet from Mr. Willimon’s bed, next to the desk where he writes all day. He looks over and sees Mr. Klein on his knees, polishing the table legs.

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13 Comments

  • d. from crown street

    Mr. Klein owned a furniture store for many years on Troy Ave.

    This guy must of gotten a ‘steal buy’ its probably antique!

  • Shul Goer

    Made the cover of the ny times on Shabbos! I over heard people in shul talking about it.

  • Bourch N. Hoffinger

    RE: The statement that Mr. Klein was a little odd, what’s so odd about being wary about letting strangers into your apt? What’s odd about an old van filled with furniture? What’s odd about fixing scratcthes?

  • Beth Rivkah Staff

    The only thing that was odd, that he sold such a magnificent table for only $65.00. And to top it off, free delivery, free touch ups.

  • Beau Willimon

    Mr. Hoffinger (and others) – I’m sorry if anyone was offended by the characterization of Mr. Klein as "odd" in the NY Times article. I cannot claim to know Mr. Klein from the four hours I spent with him. All I could do during my interview with the reporter was stress the oddity of the situation – which proved to be far more complicated than a simple business transaction, and far more detailed than a short article in the Times could allow for. I can say that Mr. Klein left a deep impression on me and that the table I bought from him is a constant reminder of the tragic way in which he died. I have gone to Mr. Klein’s grave to pay my respects and I do not wish in any way to tarnish the fond memories his friends and family have of him.