Thank you, Kent Lindsey

It was almost 23 years ago, the only time we were in a show together.  “Two for Fun” it was called… a collection of one-act farces at ABET (their second  production ever).  I immediately recognized him as “Safari Sam” on TV.  I saw right away he was so very talented, and natural… he didn’t have the “affects” so many actors have.  So quick to laugh, and laugh with you, so of course I liked him right away.

One night, he brought his electric guitar to rehearsal and practiced on it (quietly, of course) during breaks, explaining that he needed to get some practice in.  He’d played in a band (“Justin”) some years before and his old bandmates had asked him to fill-in for an ailing bandmate that weekend.  I remember the following week, after that gig, he told me the experience reminded him why he quit the band in the first place.  He loved being back with his old friends, of course.  But playing for a bunch of drunks?  Not so much.  He much preferred entertaining kids as Safari Sam.  He loved it… they were always so thrilled.  So here is this incredibly funny and friendly and talented guy, and it turns out that even without all that, he’s basically my kinda people.  Simple as that.

At the time we did that show together, I was in a low place… really low.  For almost a year I had struggled to save my marriage – a task clearly beyond my reach – and it had just recently received the knockout punch.  It was over, and there was nothing I could do about it.  I was reeling, staggering, lost.  I mean REALLY lost…. “wade-out-into-the-ocean-and-never-heard-from-again” lost.  Like that.  Well, one night, after rehearsal, he out of the blue invited me over to his home just to hang out.  Since my daughter was spending the night with her grandparents, I agreed.  It was no big thing entertainment-wise, just some wine, cheese and crackers… and a lot of laughs.  A lot.  I remember him playing a videotape of this nut-job preacher, over-dubbed with fart sounds.  It was so stupid.  Gloriously stupid.   And friggin’ HILARIOUS.  Don’t believe me?  Check it out… look for “farting preacher” on YouTube. You’ll see.  Aaaaany-way… the point is, I so needed to laugh.  REALLY laugh.  And we did.  Boy, did we.  We “my-head-hurts-I-can’t-breathe-what’s-my-name-can-I-use-your-bathroom” laughed.  You see, I needed someone to notice me. To sit with me and have wine and cheese with me and LAUGH with me.  And this man did that.  For me.  (OK, so now I’m tearing up)

Even today, I remember feeling good as I drove home.  Really good… for the first time in so, so long.  “Grandma hug” good.  You know?  Everything is gonna be all right.  Of course, my struggles weren’t over.  But what he did for me that night?  Judging from the effect that just writing this is having on me, I can tell you this: I cannot over-state what he did for me.

As happens in life, after that show, we went our separate ways.  It was the single-parent life for me… school field trips with my daughter, coaching her softball team, getting her to dance and karate classes, managing a home, earning a living, paying bills… no real time for theater.  Next time I saw him was over a decade later, backstage after his show, “Assassins.”  He was so excited about adopting his daughter, Samantha.  She was all he talked about.  See what I mean?  My kinda guy.  All the way.

I actually saw him only two more times… once after a show he was in (“The Eight: Reindeer Monologues”), and once in 2013 after a show at Players-by-the-Sea.   Neither was eventful or noteworthy, save my nervous, idiot banter about how great his tropical shirt was (yep, that was me… nervous and awkward).   Such is life.

Today, this week, a lot of us feel his loss.  And honestly?  I feel a little stupid about how it’s hitting me. I am crying over the loss of a friend I spent just a little time with so, so long ago.  The immensity of loss to his wife and daughter and so many others in his life… it’s heartbreaking.  Certainly my own loss doesn’t even register on that scale.  But I realized what it was, this effect on me.  It’s simple, really:  I have lost, for all time, the chance to be around him, this guy who’s “my kinda people.”  To get the chance to be as much of a friend to him as he was to me.  To be a part of his life.  To thank him and tell him how much I appreciate what he did for me. I’ve missed my chance to do that in this life.  But I will say it now anyway.

Thank you, Kent Lindsey.  I hope one day I get the chance to thank you in person.

And maybe laugh some more.

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