One Of Us
“
’Good night, sweet prince, / And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest’
”
I haven’t been writing a lot. Theater feels like a distant memory. Teaching students how to bow, beat change or potabure seems like a fantasy reserved for moments of quiet when my thoughts can run away from the world. I miss the feeling of smiling with my whole body, the light bulb moments within the hearts of my students and within myself. I know I am not the only one.
But here we are, at a moment I couldn’t pass up.
The theater community is non-exclusive. I consider myself a member of this community and yet I have never been on Broadway, or even very close to it. It is open to the older humans who do community theater in their small home towns and to the patrons of the arts who volunteer or sit and watch theater with their eyes and hearts open wide. And it is open to the students - the learners and the next generation (hopefully). The young, excitable humans who perform in, work on and attend shows as if it is a piece of their soul.
Last week we lost a member of our community to Covid-19. I saw Nick Cordero once in an elevator. He was a giant with the nicest smile. When I heard the news of his passing, it hit me like a ton of bricks. I mourned for a man I never formally met and a family I have only seen through Instagram. What the heck is wrong with me?
Turns out there is nothing wrong with me.
He was one of us
As I scrolled through Instagram, the news of his death was everywhere. Friends, friends-of-friends, colleagues - many of whom had never met this man - mourning his loss, sending love to his beautiful wife and son, posting videos of his performances. This loss was felt far and wide, across state lines, across all ages, backgrounds, ethnicities and disciplines.
My students filled the internet with videos, pictures with him outside the stage door, playbills and kind words. They mourned with the rest of the community as if they were no different than thousands of Broadway veterans who knew and played with him onstage. In the eyes of this community, these kids are an extension of them. They are the hopefuls. They belong just like everyone else.
Theater people are not cursed with the same fame or fortune (unfortunately) as stars in other mediums. Theater people are:
Empathetic
Passionate
Weird
Grounded
Real
Television, movies and sports stars remain in a bubble, while theater people burst it wide open and invite you in for a sing-along and a glass of wine.
When I saw my students posting about the death of Nick Cordero, I felt an odd sense of comfort. How lucky these kids are to feel a part of something. How lucky they are to have found a passion that invites them in, instead of excludes them. How lucky they are to not have to wait for fame or fortune to be initiated into the secret club. There is no password… just a lot of heart and music.
Even though we all didn’t know Nick personally, his heart and soul matched ours. Nick Cordero was one of us and he will be missed. His story will live on in this community and beyond, through the stories we choose to tell and the stories we choose to create.
