Two weeks?

Almost two weeks have passed, and I'm still trying to gather together my thoughts of Fred. Ironically, because of the show, I guess I really haven't had time to sit down and let it sink in that he's gone. Every now and then, I get a pain in my heart. Every now and then, tears come to me on stage, but I choke them back and continue on with the scene. Tonight, I read Nug's journal and had another choked up moment. I really need it. I need to break down and cry and let it all out, but I don't know when it will come. Until then, I leave you with Nug's thoughts. They are marvelous....
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From Nug's Blog...

I'm going to try to do this...

When I came to York in 1993, I really didn't know what I wanted to do. Well, I had an idea; I wanted to be a radio DJ. I knew that no amount of school was going to help me be a radio personality, though. I signed up for classes and went about my first week or so of school. That particular year I got to experience the joys of Jewish holidays for the first time, as my schedule went "frosh week", then a week off for Rosh Hashana, then a week back at school. I wanted to do something other than school (and drink as a hobby), much like I'd done in high school. I saw a poster for auditions for a Vanier College play. Now, living in Vanier Residence, I figured that this would be perfect as I wouldn't have to go outside and everything was contained in the same building complex. Plus, other than reading out loud in class, this would be great for practicing my announcing skills. The poster gave time, room number, and said, and I quote, "there will be incidental music." To this day, I stand by my belief that this was a typo, and it should have read, "incidentally, it's a musical."

I went to the audition with a monologue prepared (from a play we'd self-produced in high school, a series of teenage angst-riddled musings... I think called "Sometimes I Wake Up In The Middle Of The Night"), and ready to have some fun. I wasn't in the theatre department, so I figured this was going to be a lot like my high school, where people from all over the educational map were in the shows. I walked up to the table at the door and asked to sign up. They told me that I could go inside in 10 minutes, then asked which one of Fred's classes I was in. "Who's Fred?", I asked. Apparently, this Fred guy taught two classes, one in acting and one in stage construction, and his students were required to audition. Not me, I'm here on my own accord.

I went in and did my monologue in front of about 4 people, including this older man who then asked me if I could sing. "I can, but I don't," I replied. He hopped up to the piano and played "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star", which I sang. Then he had me sing the alphabet. Then he had me sing it like I was selling a car. I made sure to have fun here, opening the door of the car to show the interior on "gee". This guy then says, "Can you come back next Wednesday?" I asked him if I'd done something wrong, and he told me that callbacks were that day. "What are callbacks?" "I'm Fred. See you next Wednesday."

I came back and nailed the callback. I met a young man named John Catucci that day and we both made in into "Romeo and Juliet", which had somehow been written into a musical. That was my first Vanier College Productions show, and when I got to know Fred Thury. I hated him at first. I was there to learn my lines and do the show, and this guy was getting into my head and making me think things I didn't like to think about. About me, and what my opinions were on topics that were unsettling or unfamiliar. He told me that I needed to change my mind about things. About halfway through the rehearsals, he caught me babysitting our set one night (which we all took turns doing) listening to old TV themes and Sinatra songs. He said, "You can't like this stuff! You're a metal dude!" I told him he needed to change his mind about things. He liked that.

I did a few more shows while I was at York. Then, I graduated but stuck around helping out with various productions. I directed, I wrote, I improvised, I sang and danced. I painted, I hammered, I wired, I lit. All the while, I was learning how to be a better person. Fred and I argued and yelled, but mostly we laughed and made things work. And then a day came when I couldn't do a show for him. I felt terrible. Fred said that is was okay because I'd done about 15 shows for him in the last 6 or 7 years. That couldn't be right, but I went up to York today and, sure enough, it's 15 different productions that have my name on them in our little history book.

Fred was the first gay man I'd ever met. The first gay man married-to-a-woman-and-with-kids I'd ever heard of. He was the first person to really push me into different roles and different ways of thinking. "Spherical thinking" will be part of my vocabulary forever. He let me try things, and fail, and try again. He allowed me a lot of freedom in that company. I've done every job in that theatre. Every job IN theatre, from box office to producer. I learned everything from him.

What I really enjoyed was Fred's way of letting us discover things for ourselves. He'd never tell us how to say a line, or how to act. We'd make our own choices and then he'd discuss why we chose that direction. Frequently, he'd say it wasn't what he had in mind, but he liked what we were doing. We'd changed his mind about something and he admitted that. I respected that immensely.

Without Fred, I never would have met, John, Josh, Ron, Steve DelBalso, Perry, Edwards, and countless others. Without Fred I never would have tried to do anything other than "fat guy" roles. I would have never sang in public. I would have never improvised. Never written a play. Never directed. Never produced my own show. Never tried sketch comedy. Never heard of Second City. All of these things are second nature to me now.

Fred succumbed to an illness that, by all accounts, he should have died of in 1985. A very complicated illness involving blood and cancer and horrible surgeries. The entire time I've known him, he's been sick. He never let it stop him, he never let it get him down. It beat him up mercilessly and he still kept on going. He was opening another show this week and was sewing all the costumes for it. And I'm not surprised in the least.

I'm a little sad that in recent years, what with post-secondary education being what it is, that the shows have suffered at VCP. With younger students coming in, and more students needing to work to make ends meet, it's harder for them to make a commitment to a show. And this was hard on Fred who was used to a solid commitment. Fred had been getting more and more frustrated with the lack of commitment to his company. I know it's been hard for this particular show, as they've had to recast over 80% of the show in the last two weeks. But, Fred called a few old VCPers and they all said yes. Because it was Fred. Fred brought community to a university that has none. He made a family in a desolate place. Fred created a network of people who graduated to various businesses that would help each other out, and help new VCPers, in a heartbeat.

And tomorrow, I will go to Fred's funeral. I will see a lot of old friends... Many I've lost touch with over the years. I will see some people I don't want to see, and lots that I will never want to let go of. We'll share some stories about Fred... I'll probably tell the story of the time his one false tooth (which he had on a plate and had to sometimes remove to eat) fell out of his shirt pocket and into s pile of sawdust. I didn't know he had one then. He picked it up, dusted it off, and said, "you didn't see that." I laughed for half an hour, and he did too. But of all the stories I'll hear, nothing will hurt me more than knowing that I can't call him to talk. And when he would say hello, and you'd introduce yourself he would say, "I remember you." And he would. He remembered us all. Every. Single. One. Of. Us. From over 30 years of shows at York.

And we will all remember him.

"Life does not cease to be funny when people die any more than it ceases to be serious when people laugh." -George Bernard Shaw