Howard Bragman, In Memoriam: LGBTQ Country Singer Chely Wright on the Tenderness of the PR Icon Who Helped Her Come Out
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One of Howard Bragman’s big moments as a public relations giant was engineering a campaign in which singer Chely Wright came out of the country music closet in 2010 — a historic turning point in a genre where the idea of mainstream artists making any such proclamation was unfathomable. Among his other inclinations and accomplishments, Bragman was a member of the LGBTQ+ community who also had a keen sense of what narratives could touch TV viewers and magazine readers needing that last nudge toward embracing inclusivity. Here, Wright shares with Variety her thoughts about the heart behind Bragman’s highly effective salesmanship. —Chris Willman
Howard Bragman is gone… and the world will never be the same. That may sound hyperbolic, but it’s really not.
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The first time I met Howard was April 3, 2009. We had breakfast at Hugo’s in West Hollywood and if my memory serves me correctly, we were there long after the lunchtime crowd had cleared.
Our mutual friend, Beverly Kopf had introduced us just a week or so before, brokering the meeting with a particular urgency and elegance — unique to her. Beverly and her partner in life and in business, Bobbie Birleffi, were a year and a half into making a documentary film about my real-time journey toward coming out of the closet, “Wish Me Away,” which, as planned, would happen about a year later. Making a documentary film is tough enough, but doing it on the down-low requires a laser-focused strategy and a lot of trusted, iron-clad relationships in the business.
A few weeks before that breakfast, Beverly, Bobbie, my manager Russell Carter and I were on a conference call talking about the next phase of shooting for the film. I’d also just turned in the final draft of the manuscript for my memoir, ‘Like Me,’ to Random House. A lot was happening all at once. Shit was getting real. That’s when Beverly stated flatly, “We need Howard.” She said it in a voice that left any uncertainty in a cloud of dust. “It’s time to call Howard.” And so, she did.
The evening after Howard and I had our long breakfast meeting, he sent me an email:
“Chely, Thanks for your time and honesty this morning. I am so excited to be along on this journey as you change yourself and change the world. You are going to end up more empowered and inspired than you can even imagine.”
Like most who knew and/or worked with Howard, my trust in him was immediate and complete. As his surname Bragman suggests (which makes me smile, even on a day like today), he was an expert at framing a narrative. It was literally his bread and butter. But there was something Howard did even better than telling his clients’ stories. His most refined and important skill was listening to them. And he listened to me. He took the time to know me and to know how important this moment was in my life. Coming out as a lesbian in country music would be fraught with complexity and loaded with emotion.
Howard and I would spend the next year “getting me ready.” He educated me, he guided me, he coached me, and he walked with me every step of the way. Howard prepared me for the landmines that might and did explode along the way.
A few years later, shortly after I gave birth to my twin sons, I received this note from Howard.
“As you begin the second half of your journey, I want to tell you how proud I am of your first half. Sure, you had a few issues out of the gate, but a thoroughbred finds her way, as you did, and now look at you: love–the maternal kind, the romantic kind, friends, family, respect. While I don’t see you as often as I want, know that I am on the sidelines, quietly cheering your joy and success and knowing the next chapter will be even better. I couldn’t even be more grateful for the small role you gave me the honor of playing in your life. Chely Wright, you are an angel on earth, and I feel the glow of your halo. Love, Howard.”
This is who he was. He was tender as the day is long.
During our 14 years of friendship, I can’t tell you how many times I called upon Howard to assist with matters I’d somehow been pulled into. It was never lost on me how full circle it was when these words came out of my mouth: “We need Howard. It’s time to call Howard.” And so, I would.
When help is needed — whether it’s personal, public or even legal in nature, our LGBTQ+ community tends to circle the wagons with our own brand of speed, style and passion. It would embarrass Howard for me to tell you how generous he was with his time, over and over again. Although one can go down a rabbit hole reading articles, quotes, press releases and statements that mention Howard’s involvement and influence, so much of what he did for others was behind the scenes — unattributed. A lot of it, pro bono.
Howard loved to make jokes about being a jaded, cynical Hollywood spin-doctor. While that may have been a little bit true, it was mostly a façade. I asked him, quite recently in fact, to tell me the secret to his success. He paused for an uncharacteristically long moment and then shared this. “I try to think about the 13-year-old Howard Bragman — the Jewish, slightly overweight son of Myrna and Leonard who was pretty sure he’d get his ass kicked if anyone in Flint, Michigan ever found out he was a queer. Then I proceed accordingly.”
Howard introduced me to so many of the people in my life I hold dear. I’m not quite sure where or who I’d be without him. Losing this man is a loss for all who knew him and a loss for those who didn’t too.
Howard left the world a better and more just place than he found it. What a gift it was to be his friend.
I love you, Howard.
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