Somewhere beneath the old woman’s hobble, the thickened waist and hips, the necessary eyeglasses and the slurred speech, somewhere beneath her painfully hunched engagement with the world she loved around her, I always imagined I saw the young girl that once was Jesse. Why? A very simple answer: that girl still lived in her eyes, and I could always see her dancing there.
You know how in books they are always writing things like “Her eyes sparkled”, or “The dazzle of her eyes caught his attention”, stuff like that? Well, in my romance about Jesse M. I would have to resort to the same old wonderful phrases, because her eyes did sparkle, and whenever I took the time to look there, I was dazzled. And I remember how I was always surprised.
I first met Jesse when she sidled up to me – she invaded one’s space, I imagine in order to get a better look, since she was blind as a gentle old bat – and told me how much she loved a play I was in at the Playhouse. I forget which one, but it was early on in my career there, and I’ve never known my time in that small town without Jesse as part of the natural landscape. We all knew to expect her in her Opening Night front row seats, often alone, but lately always with a companion to help her navigate. And I for one, always played to Jesse.
Again, why? Because once I knew her, it was impossible for me not to be aware of her presence, and why that is true for some relationships and not for others, I don’t know. But what I do know is: Jesse and I bonded quickly, as if we were meant to. As if she knew me, way deep down, and knew things about me that I did not even yet now about myself. And as my time passed there, and as my job responsibilities grew from being just an actor in the company to other more administrative duties, it began to feel like Jesse M. was my patron saint, someone I could always turn to for advice, and in some cases, support.
The first time I established the NEA’s POETRY OUT LOUD programming in our community there, I took Jesse to lunch (always committing half a day for the adventure, because Jesse was slow getting around, and one had to always tune in to her tempo or be lost), to find out the best ways to enrich the planned events, to get ideas. She had been a revered English teacher in the coal counties, and I learned at lunch that day she used to insist that every singe student in her school memorize a poem and recite it once a week in her school library. They had to learn a new poem every time. And those magic eyes of hers glowed when she described the way it changed some of the kids’ lives.
She was in the front row at the POL Competition, cheering the 20 regional winners on to do their best. And then, when the final three were chosen, and needed funding to go to the Statewide Contest, who do you supposed wrote a check?
But Jesse was always generous when it came to the arts in her community.
She was a patron saint to many, and I am sure all are grieved at her passing, because the support she gave was always, always beyond financial: Jesse gave of her heart.
And she made it clear that without each and every artistic contribution made by the groups she supported, not only would her life suffer, but the life of her community would as well. And Jesse was, and is in my mind, the very definition of what it means to live in and care for your own community. She gave because , in order to live deeply and well, she knew she must give. She showed up, she participated, she commented and gave of her considerably sharp mind to each event. She was active, even when her body could not be. Jesse had the sort of inner life an engaged person wishes for and spends a lifetime cultivating. And she was generous in sharing it with all who cared.
That is why we are all sad she’s gone.
And that is why she will be sorrowfully missed.
But, there are great actors, musicians and painters up there , Jesse.
ENJOY!
