Farewell

October 10, 2022

Drove to Waynesville last night for retirement festivities for Steve Lloyd. It was gala, lavish, extended, over-the-top, and no one ever deserved such a send-off more. What a remarkable man! He built HART in the middle of what one would expect to be a cultural desert, and though the deed wasn’t quite single-handed, he was present and indispensable at every point. He managed to direct play after play without ever being curt or caustic or sarcastic, which alone should win him a place in the annals. He was a force of nature without being a monster of Ego. He is a relaxed, generous, and staunch friend. Innumerable young people found their way into art–or, better still, into life-- under his influence. In an entire county he was the most recognizable symbol of civilization. I would guess two hundred people attended, flying in from Los Angeles and Iowa and who knows where else. I managed to sojourn from distant Asheville. The very loud Joe Sam Queen was Master of Ceremonies, and stars of his past shows (mostly musicals) reprised bits of their roles. The scenes were pretty much awful, which didn’t detract from the sincerity of the homage. Adam did the O what a rogue and peasant slave from Hamlet, and was decidedly the gem of the evening. There is no better actor in America. I do not know why his path has been so winding. They renamed the stage after Steve, and the town gave him his own day. Steve walked across the lawn with his arms outstretched to greet me, and many friends from old times caught me briefly again to their bosoms. The ghost I left behind me at HART, I gathered from the comments, was of an occasional appearance that made an out-of-proportion impression. Two people said my role in Proof was the best that had been on that stage, and some said it had been Hamlet’s father. “We were always so happy when we saw you on stage.” I assumed I’d not be remembered in particular at all, so the drive was a success for me as well as for spirit of remembrance. 

Odd thing: as I walked out the door to go to Waynesville, a play popped into my head, entire and detailed, like a balloon needing only to be filled. This happens with my best stage work, and hasn’t happened in a long time. Spent today drawing out the play. 

The Basement Guy came out to check on the dehumidifier, and when he left, the hum of that machine had grown until it was ubiquitous and intolerable. I wet downstairs and began moving things around, as he must have done. The first thing I touched and moved ever so slightly caused the hum to return to the way it was.