Jonah

Jonah & the $12 Guitar
Dec 2005 (photos by Katie)

Jonah kept that twelve dollar guitar close by for a long, long time (see “Jonah’s Guitar Journey – Part One”). He mastered his first chords on it, and wasted no time before learning Tom Lehrer’s Irish Ballad. He wouldn’t sing often for me, but I got a couple of free performances of that particular tune. I think he was paying homage to his old father who had learned Irish Ballad when he was young (albeit on the piano).

Although our kids had abundant access to the internet, we always kept a watchful eye on them so they were never permitted to keep a computer in their bedroom. When, upon his high school graduation, we finally allowed Jonah to move his computer into the privacy of his own space, that junky guitar was right there with him, residing on a stand adjacent to his desk (even though, as you’ll read below, he’d gotten himself a fancier guitar quite a few years earlier). From time to time, he would pick it up and play quietly while Skyping with friends or waiting for online video games to load.

Time came, however, when neither a junky $12 guitar nor a Martin Backpacker (again, see “Jonah’s Guitar Journey – Part One”) would satisfy Jonah’s expanding musical desires. He wanted a real guitar. And he’d certainly demonstrated that this was no passing fancy. Music, and especially the guitar, had become central to his life. So one day, I took my 15-year old to a cool little guitar shop in White Plains, NY, called Toys from the Attic. I remember him timidly speaking with the salesperson who showed him a wall filled with acoustic guitars and invited him to try each and every one until he found what he wanted. We were there for hours, Jonah sitting on a big couch in the center of the room, wrapping himself around each prospective instrument, playing every song he knew about a hundred times until he’d found the guitar he was looking for.

Dean Tradition S TR
More importantly …
BIG RED FACE!

I’d never heard of Dean guitars until that day. They hadn’t existed when I’d last bought myself a guitar. But Jonah fell in love with a Dean guitar that had a big red face on it, and a big sweet sound. So after another hour or so confirming what he’d known from the first strum, we took it home with us (for those who care about such things, it was a Dean Tradition S TR – “TR” being Dean’s code for “trans red,” or, as I like to describe it, “big red face”). The guitar had been built when Jonah was 14, so it only had to wait one year before he found it.

After Jonah died, memories of him and his “bright red guitar” would trickle in. He’d taken it with him to UB, and the friends he made there (who knew him as Mac) would recall the many times they sang together while he played. The night after Jonah’s death, we were fortunate to witness an outside gathering in a spot where he and his friends had made much music together, an iPod mix now offering up the melodies they had previously all sung. While the tracks were playing, his friends sang along and wrote messages in chalk on the surrounding walls. It was a beautiful tribute that our family will never forget.

Since Jonah’s death, that Dean guitar has stayed with us, making brief appearances throughout our continuing journey of remembrance, showing up in expected and unexpected places.

Seven weeks after Jonah’s funeral, I returned to work. Among that weekend’s activities, I spent time with the kids in our religious school. I spoke with them about Jonah, about him dying, about him living, and about what it feels like to grieve for someone you love. I also brought with me Jonah’s bright red guitar. We sang “Redemption Song” together, one of Jonah’s favorite tunes (and which, Ellen tells me, Jonah learned and played on the big red guitar for many a youth group High Holy Days service). It felt so good to be sharing it, and him, with the kids, most of whom had known him from singing with him and being tutored by him. Jonah had been a huge presence among the children at Woodlands Community Temple, and his loss was felt deeply by them.

About a year after Jonah died, we established an annual concert of contemporary Jewish music whose purpose was to raise funds that would help kids in our temple go to camp. At that first concert (with Dan Nichols and Josh Nelson), Jonah’s presence was powerful and unmistakable. He was on all of our minds and in all of our hearts. He’d have loved being there. The second year, however, things were a bit different. The music would be great (Craig Taubman) but with time, Jonah’s presence was not as palpable. So unbeknownst to the audience (and probably to Craig, as well) I placed Jonah’s big red guitar on stage where it could serve as a reminder – to those who knew what it was – that we still missed Jonah.

Poster for March 2012
Dan on the Big Red Guitar

A year later, Ellen and I were sitting in our home with Dan Nichols and Josh Nelson planning the third Jonah Concert. We had, by then, taken most of Jonah’s instruments and created a bit of a tribute wall around our piano, mounting them along with a few others (including Ellen’s engagement banjo … yep, another story indeed … and her father’s army bugle that he obtained and played in World War II Italy) that carry special memories for us. The red guitar, however, had always remained in its stand right next to the piano, ever ready to be picked up and played by whomever. Typically, this would be either Ellen or myself as one of us prepared for a Shabbat service and happily worked out our material on Jonah’s guitar. But the night that Dan and Josh came by in November 2011 to talk about their upcoming concert, the bright red guitar came out along with Jonah’s ukulele (more on that another time) and, next thing we knew, the concert poster that year featured Dan Nichols on Jonah’s guitar and Josh on his ukulele.

Dan sings “Redemption Song” at our family seder March 2013

Then there was a night about a year ago when Dan Nichols, family in tow, showed up on our doorstep for seder (okay, Ellen probably worked that out beforehand with them). And I have lovely memories of Dan playing a few tunes (there are always more than a few guitar tunes at our seder!) on the big red guitar. It needn’t have been Dan, of course; it’s just sweet to see Jonah’s guitar continue to bring music into the world. It’s not quite Jonah, but one takes what one can get.

Interestingly, the Dean guitar is residing in my temple Study right now. My own guitar is spending the summer at a resort in Connecticut (you know, a guitar spa) (okay, a repair shop) having a number of scratches, cracks, and even holes removed so that it can begin the second decade of its life with me in good health. Meanwhile, Jonah’s guitar is keeping me company and I’ve been deeply moved each time I pick it up and play it in front of my congregation.

The day Jonah died, messages began flying across the internet. On Jonah’s Facebook page (and on a tribute page set up for him), unbelievably lovely words were left. One message came from Genevieve Van Dussen, whom Jonah had met during that only year of his at college. Genny writes about more than the guitar but she includes the guitar which, in a way, with its memorable bright red face, touched everyone who spent time around it, just as a very memorable red-bearded kid I used to know.

I’ll close out with Genny’s words:

You were truly one incredible person. You were always able to put a smile on my face and reverse my bad mood into a good one. You are not like anyone I have ever met. I will never forget our ridiculously long walk from South Campus to North Campus. I asked you if you would tell me a story and, boy, did you ever. I never laughed so hard. I will also never forget that “V for Vendetta” mask in your room, watching random movie clips together on your computer, your walk (or, should I say, your swagger), the checkered hat, the red aviators, the many trips you made to my dorm (you were such a gentleman and always walked me to my room), your guitar playing with that bright red guitar of yours. It was only a couple of days ago when you asked me if I wanted to buy it, but that guitar could only fit one person – you, and nobody else. You were such a lovely person inside and out. I will miss you so much, Mac. You will always remain in my thoughts and prayers.

Billy

Having once been a kid myself, I know what it’s like to want to do something, to cry and clamor for your parents to finance it, and then to lose interest in the aftermath of victory. I’m horrified by how many times I talked my parents into supporting my childhood dreams of grandeur. Come to think of it, Ellen should probably have put her foot down a few times as well. Ah, well. At least I don’t have a hobby that includes yachts or airplanes.

His first guitar became his knockaround camp-guitar 4 years later (2007)

I remember when Jonah, at the age of twelve, came to me asking for a guitar. I knew the gambit and I wasn’t biting. I told him we’d get him a really cheap guitar. Also, Ellen’s dad had done the same with her, purchasing her first guitar from a pawn shop to make sure she was really serious about wanting to play. Jonah could learn from that. And if he enjoyed playing, and he was learning stuff, and showed signs that this was something he was going to continue, then we’d talk about a real guitar.

So I went onto eBay and searched for guitars that would cost less than $25. Actually, I was hoping to buy one that, even with shipping and handling, wouldn’t exceed $25. I bought him a $12 guitar. It had no brand name stamped on the headstock and in the sound hole it read, “Classic Guitar.” What a piece of junk! But from his response, you’d think I’d gotten him Jimi Hendrix’s Stratocaster. Jonah was so grateful and from the minute he started strumming that thing, he never stopped! This was an eye-opener for me. This kid really liked music!

The very first song Jonah wanted to learn was Tom Lehrer’s Irish Ballad, a particularly reprehensible little piece about a young girl with an irrepressible propensity for murder. Both Ellen and I grew up on ample amounts of Tom Lehrer’s music and, while it may cause one to question our fitness as parents, we exuberantly shared his music with our young children and were only too happy to teach it to Jonah as his first “recital” piece.

One morning in a fit of pique,
Sing rickety-tickety-tin.
One morning in a fit of pique,
She drowned her father in the creek.
The water tasted bad for a week,
And we had to make do with gin.

That’s my boy. It wasn’t enough for him to make music; he had to make people laugh too.

Playing the Backpacker in Mississippi (2007)

Jonah didn’t wait around for me to buy him “a real guitar.” When he was thirteen, he spent his own money on a Martin Backpacker. These weren’t great guitars either, but they were portable, really easy to carry around. And that was what Jonah was looking for. The stories we heard after his death would bear this out. So many of Jonah’s friends – from camp, to youth group, and even during college – told us how much Jonah loved music, and how much he loved sharing music. More than a few of them wrote of the joy he got from teaching them how to play the guitar.

I think I got my money’s worth on eBay that day.

19th century physician and author Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr., wrote, “Alas for those who cannot sing, but die with all their music in them.” Nineteen years is far too few, but Jonah squeezed immeasurable amounts of spirit and music into them. That little guitar of his did its job well, for he played and played, and sang and sang, until his song was done. The guitar is still around, and when I have occasion to see it, I am reminded just how extraordinary a life my son lived. “Real guitar” or not, he brought real music to us all.

Billy

It’s been five years since March 5, 2009. In some ways, lots of time has passed by. But in other ways, it feels as if no time has passed at all. Grief stands strong while life continues on. Here are a few snapshots that illustrate Jonah’s continuing presence these days:

1) In the first months after Jonah’s death, I struggled with how to remember his face. As a 19-year old, it changed frequently. Long hair, short hair, bearded, clean-shaven – which Jonah do I remember? It really bothered me. Today, I’m comfortable with all “the Jonahs.” This is likely due to the ever-cycling collection of photographs that plays each day on a laptop computer in our living room. I think these pictures have reinforced and helped me to grow comfortable with the reality that there are many versions of Jonah from the years he lived among us. I love remembering them all.

2) I don’t dream about Jonah. I don’t know what psychology is at play here, but I suspect that because I “see” him in the many photographs each day, I don’t have the need to see him at night. That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t love to have a nocturnal meet-up. Someday perhaps.

3) In early January, I taught a “Jonah Dreskin Memorial Confirmation Class.” Two months before he died, Jonah had dropped by the 10th grade and led a discussion on the intersection of Judaism and science. The kids loved the class, mostly because they enjoyed spending time with this older college kid. He was cool and they couldn’t get enough of him. Five years later, I brought his session back. And while much of the material is different (and the cool factor was utterly absent), it was his idea and I loved bringing a bit of him to share with my temple kids.

4) The Jonah Maccabee Concert has brought major contemporary Jewish songwriters to my synagogue, Woodlands Woodlands Community Temple. Together (them, us, and you!), we’ve raised substantial dollars to help WCT kids get to Reform Jewish summer programs. Jewish music and camping were so precious to Jonah. That piece of him remains an incredibly powerful presence in our temple, which makes me very happy.

5) The Jonah Maccabee Foundation, founded by my family in Jonah’s memory, is now in its second year of real activity. We make grants to organizations that focus on social justice, the arts, and Jewish life. I treasure the beautiful tributes these projects pay to Jonah’s life and memory.

6) Not as much as I used to but I continue to write about Jonah. It means a lot to me to preserve my favorite memories of him. I share them here at jonahmac.org/jonah, which helps me feel like there will be a place for his nieces and nephews to one day meet and get to know him.

I think that my greatest lesson from losing Jonah is that people are amazingly resilient. I came back from this, and I see so many others who are able to rebuild on the ashes of their own tragedies and traumas. I forever miss Jonah. But as in the apocryphal story of Itzhak Perlman breaking a string yet continuing to play and adjust and retune and complete his violin performance, I try each day to respond to the best and the worst in life by affirming that “it is our genius, as well as our hearts, to make music with what remains.”

As always, my family and I are deeply grateful for your continuing friendship and support.

Billy

These words appeared in a slightly different form in Woodlands Community Temple’s monthly Makom (March 2014).

Dear friends,

This is the final piece of writing by one of Jonah’s PGT friends. We hope you’ve enjoyed the series. Thanks to everyone who submitted an essay!

Billy

Alex Wolitzer remembers …

Having graduated from Skidmore College in May of 2012, Alex immediately started teaching in Washington, DC. She has taught students of all levels and ages, and is currently at McKinley Middle School teaching a self-contained class of eight students with intellectual disabilities. They love when she puts on recordings of, and serenades them with, show tunes!

Dear Jonah,

Where I am today, you are always with me. I’m a teacher for adolescent students in inner-city D.C. Imparting my love of the theatre to them and watching them gobble it up reminds me so much of the passion and fervor you and I shared at PGT so many years ago. If only I could play the “uke” as you did, I think I’d have them hooked!

I want to thank you for being a friend. I remember like it was not long ago at all watching you endlessly share your voice, your time, and your heart with those with whom we worked, played, and grew at PGT. Especially for sharing it all with me. There are too many times for me to count where you were an open ear and a shoulder to cry on before rehearsals even started. Whether it was something going on at school or anxiety about our show, you always had something to say, be it realistic and constructive or hysterical enough that I forgot all about it!

But of all of the times that you were there with a kind word or to brush that ever-present chip off of my shoulder, the memory I want to share involved but a few words. Rehearsing for A Man of No Importance, I felt so nervous because it was my first experience with PGT, and I was one of the youngest actors in the cast. Not only were you so warm and welcoming, but you never made me feel as though I was new; it was like we’d been friends forever. So when I bought my first pair of character shoes, I was worried I would look like such a doofus! During our dinner break, you came down to the Asian market with me, and on the way back—on the first floor still—my heel broke! I was absolutely mortified that I’d have to walk through the White Plains Mall, with one shoe only, back to the cast of accomplished actors that I’d just met! You said these words:

“Shut up. Embrace it. Hop on.”

Mason, Alex, Jonah and Will
Hair 2008 (well, a cast party at least)

You bent over and had me climb on your back for a piggy-back ride! You carried me up the stairs, through the White Plains Mall, and all the way back to the PGT studios. And for the first time—maybe even in my life—I actually found security in laughing at myself and feeling secure in my skin. No matter how many words of wisdom or comfort you could have imparted on me, those six made such a dramatic impact on how great I felt about my clumsy bad luck, my kooky personality, and me overall.

As I said, in what I do today, you are always with me. My students just watched Rent for the first time. And watching my adorable class of inner-city kids sing “No Day But Today,” “La Vie Boheme,” and “Seasons of Love” the way you and I once did when we were just singing for no apparent reason whatsoever brings me such joy.

You live on in all of us, Jonah.

Alex (or as you once called me for a week straight, “Shortypants”)

P.S. Your donation at jonahmac.org is always welcome! We are ever grateful for your friendship and support.

In Jonah’s 2001-2002 6th grade year, one part of his life that we knew he enjoyed was singing. Not only was he in Ardsley Middle School’s 6th grade choir (anyone who didn’t play in the instrumental program had to be), Jonah also volunteered to sing with the Madrigals, a smaller chorus of kids who could actually carry a tune and really liked singing. Also, Mr. Squillante directed the Madrigals, a super-plus because kids really like him (to this day).

In June 2002, Mr. Squillante invited the Madrigals to join him at the Clearwater Festival, an annual summer frolic of music, food and social consciousness at Croton Point Park in Westchester, NY, where he had somehow made arrangements for the group to sing back-up to Pete Seeger! Those of us parents and grandparents who’d grown up on a steady diet of Pete’s music and love, well we were beside ourselves.

Jonah (far right) sings with Pete Seeger
Clearwater Festival (Jun 15, 2002)

We packed up the kids, braved the traffic, searched for a parking space, and eventually made our way onto the festival grounds. This was an incredible moment for us, to watch Jonah singing not 10 feet from Pete. We’re not sure he really understood how very special this was but we assumed the experience would grow in stature for him across the years.

In time, Jonah would teach himself to play ukulele and guitar, and would become quite the songleader himself. My 10th grader class was remembering just last week when Jonah had taught them “Father Abraham Had Seven Sons” and, of course, “Jonah and the Whale.” These kids had been in the 5th grade at the time, but the memory reigns as a powerful one for many  of them.

Pete would be proud. I know that Jonah’s songleading parents certainly were.

To both Pete and Jonah, I say: Thank you for your music. Thank you for your goodness. Thank you for creating indelible memories I will cherish forever.

And thank you for the double-billing on June 15, 2002. What a show that was!

Billy

Dear friends,

Our autumn fundraiser has ended, but Jonah’s friends have asked to continue writing about him. So we’ll keep sharing those writings here. Enjoy!

Billy

Ross Baum remembers …

Ross graduated from Syracuse University in 2012 with a degree in musical theatre. He spent the past year performing with Disney Cruise Line and is now pursuing his MFA at New York University’s Graduate Musical Theatre Writing Program.

I only had the privilege of performing in two shows with Jonah, but I will never forget the many characters he brought to life on the PGT stage, each and everyone distinct, unique, and utterly “Jonah.” From the doctor in Marvin’s Room to the infamous thug in Lucky Stiff to the howling, hippie-life-loving big brother in Hair, and so many others, old and young, good and evil, Jonah portrayed a range of characters in his five years at PGT that most actors could only dream of in a lifetime.

Jonah and Ross
“Hair” (Jun 2008)

Two specific memories come to mind when I think of Jonah. As rebellious high school seniors, as if we didn’t have enough of each other already during Hair tech week, the Class of 2008 would often gather after rehearsal to hang out and enjoy the last of our time together. One particular evening we found ourselves in Anya’s basement, having an outrageous dance party to – of all things – the Hair cast album. As we had been instructed not to get haircuts for the previous six months, I think everyone felt super cool at their ability to throw their extra long hair around. But not Jonah. There he was, in the middle of it all, dancing just as hard as anybody, but not with his hair flowing – he was rocking his signature black-and-white checkered fedora. That, to me, was Jonah in a nutshell – he tackled things with such commitment and ferocity but always in his unique way. He rarely went with the crowd but always found himself in the center of it all. Everybody in our community loved him. And I’m reminded of him every time I return to PGT and walk by the black-and-white checkered wall painted in his honor. It always brings me back to the image of that black-and-white hat bouncing up and down in a sea of long hair.

The second memory is an onstage moment from Hair. At the end of Jonah’s introductory monologue, he exclaimed, “Look at the moon!” and gave a long, loud howl. That was always one of my favorite moments in the show. It was the way he created the picture for the audience, the way he filled the theatre with his voice, the way he inspired the rest of us to join in with him. Since then I’ve been surprised at how many times I actually hear or use the phrase “Look at the moon” in real life. And every time, no matter where I am or who says it, I always smile and think of Jonah.

Ross

P.S. Your donation at jonahmac.org is always welcome! We are ever grateful for your friendship and support.

Dear friends,

Our autumn fundraiser has ended, but Jonah’s friends have asked to continue writing about him. So we’ll keep sharing those writings here. Enjoy!

Billy

Tamara Wolfson remembers …

Tamara Wolfson was a proud member of PGT from Spring 2006 through Spring 2007. Though her time at PGT was too short, she made some of her most treasured friends and memories there. Tamara graduated from American Jewish University in Los Angeles with a B.A. in Jewish Studies. She is currently living in Jerusalem, where she is beginning her Cantorial studies at the Hebrew Union College – Jewish Institute of Religion’s Debbie Friedman School of Sacred Music.

“I don’t think we’ll ever forget that dance. We’ll be back for the 20th anniversary and we’ll still be able to do it. But I won’t be able to lift Tamara, because she’ll be taller than me and I’ll be weak.”

I remember giggling when I read the above Facebook comment that Jonah had written back in January of 2007. Though I doubt I’ve gotten taller since that photo was taken in 2007, Jonah certainly was right about one thing: to this day, I remember that dance. I will never forget it.

The Secret Garden was one of my earliest PGT shows, and it was the show that first introduced me to Jonah. I remember when Caren, our choreographer, told us that he and I would be dance partners for the waltz number in the show. Jonah practically skipped across the room towards me, wearing a smile so infectious it made me forget my two left feet. When we learned that he would be lifting me during the waltz, Jonah and I looked at each other a bit incredulously. Then that contagious grin and the glint in his eye made me smile in spite of myself. “No big deal. We got this!” We high-fived to seal the deal.

Tamara and Jonah backstage
“The Secret Garden,” Jan 2007

In the weeks of rehearsals leading up to opening night, Jonah learned to lead and I learned to follow. He guided my steps, supporting me when I needed it, and he rarely let go of my hand. Jonah didn’t drop me, slip up, or even step on my feet. He devoted himself completely to the process, because he wanted a show we could all take pride in. The seriousness and deep wisdom with which he approached each and every character he portrayed, coupled with his insatiable positivity and sense of humor, made it an absolute joy to work with him.

Over the years, it became almost impossible to separate the light and warmth of PGT from the light and warmth emanating from Jonah’s very being; he grew to embody the atmosphere that makes PGT such a catalyst for personal and professional growth. For those of us lucky enough to have performed with Jonah, we feel both his absence and his presence in equal measure whenever we step onto a stage. But his legacy of love will always be waiting in the wings, ready to pick us up and sweep us off our feet whenever we need it – and miss it – the most.

Tamara

P.S. Your donation at jonahmac.org is always welcome! We are ever grateful for your friendship and support.

Dear friends,

Our autumn fundraiser has ended, but Jonah’s friends have asked to continue writing about him. So we’ll keep sharing those writings here. Enjoy!

Billy

Mason Lee remembers …

Mason spent his junior and senior years at PGT, where he performed Guys and Dolls, Zanna Don’t, and Hair (with Jonah). He is currently learning Mandarin, Tai Chi, and pursuing an acting career in his new (indefinite) home base in Taipei, Taiwan.

We were all sitting in a circle. It was a passing thing that I saw before Jeff moved on to the next person, a moment of seeing Jonah. It was the first time I had noticed his smile.

We were an hour and a half away from our last performance of Hair at the New Rochelle Public Library, and Jill and Jeff had us on stage for the customary farewell exchange for all the seniors, where they give a little speech to each senior looking back on the years they have spent there. I was curious, as I had only been a part of the PGT gang for two years, what Jeff and Jill had to say about everyone, what the accrual of a relationship like this from childhood all the way up to senior year was going to be like. Definitely mucho tears. The energy hanging in the air just made you want to cry. Like, no yeah dude, you didn’t know? They gonna make you cry today. Cry city. Like yeah, total weep fest. Your brunch serving of Whole-Weep toast (with jam). And I had been there for a relatively short amount of time, but had found a home in PGT. And with the way that PGT makes you immediately feel like family, it wasn’t very hard to enter into this heavy cloud hanging in the room, the cloud of ugh. I gotta leave this place and these people? Noo noooo whyy whyyy, cruel world. And about halfway through their first speech, I hear the sniffles start coming. By the time they got down to my end of the circle, most people were a mess. And I thought to myself, these speeches are a little cruel to be honest, because they’re like, here, let me remind you how wonderful the last ten odd years of your life have been with us, and that no one you meet in your life will ever give you the amount of understanding, love, and support that we will give you. Now go off into the cruel world of adults and get ready to suffer.

And I remember as a means of maintaining my street cred, and not giving in to whatever that knot in my throat was urging me to do, I started looking down at the floor, began studying this weird hardwood gym-class floor that we had been performing on for the past two weeks, studying the clear laminating gel stuff that coats these wooden planks, and those little gelly bumps that would cluster every few centimeters. Really, a strange floor to pretend to be hippies on.

And then they get to Jonah, somewhere towards the end of the circle. He was sitting cross-legged, elbows resting on his knees, hands dangling off the side of his legs, a little bit of the lazy kid lean to the left, weight pushed into his left knee. And Jill started her speech, and I looked at him, and he was smiling. And not a little self-conscious repressed Mason smirk, but a big fat beaming Jonah smile. And my next thought was, what is wrong with you man?? Have you not been abreast of this heart-wrenching and bittersweet situation thus far?? And Jill and Jeff start their speeches for him, and he is still smiling.

Mason and Jonah in “Hair”
Jun 2008

His eyes did not leave Jill and Jeff, but remained in a soft focus. He seemed to exist in some sort of pocket, away from time, in a way that made it seem like the circle didn’t exist, that we weren’t there. The only thing that existed was this direct line between him and the words that were coming out Jill and Jeff’s mouths. The only distinction to be made was that these words appeared to travel towards him, enter through a tiny hole of this space bubble that enclosed him, and proceeded to fill the air inside, so that he need not focus so hard on their mouths, as it was all contained in this pocket.

I don’t know where this smile came from, or what it was about. It seemed vaguely to start somewhere in his brain, traveling down to the corner of his lips and then pushing upwards and outwards. But looking at him and this happiness that was emanating through him, I could not locate a particular place in his body that it was coming from. It just stood, without any sort of time attached to it, as if it had been there forever and we happened to be witnessing presently. His appearance made it seem like someone unseen was leaning in close and whispering some juicy secret into his ear. Or that he was watching his favorite movie, and the best part was happening in front of his eyes. I think if someone were to poke him he wouldn’t have noticed. And if one had somehow managed to shake him out of his reverie, he might look around and think it odd that we were all crying.

I couldn’t help but think it strange that he would be smiling at such a time. Not that one could not feel happiness, or laugh, or smile, as this moment was in fact a celebration, and there was much to be happy about for all of us. And I believe we all were in fact quite happy to be there. But this experience of saying goodbye always, for me, feels characterized by a sense of dread, a feeling of your heart being pried open because of the love you feel for these people; and in this anticipation of leaving what you feel is such a real place, you sit there and you feel so sad. And you want to cry. And you feel a chapter of your life is closing. So when you see in your line of vision this massive SMILE, emanating joy and satisfaction, it feels contradictory, and in fact a bit offensive to this experience that you yourself are having.

And I can only take a guess as to what was behind this smile. In this one show that I did with him, I only had a handful of conversations with him, so any guess is merely just that, guesswork. Perhaps there were a lot of internal happenings that I could not see. But, simply put, maybe this moment between him and this group of people was a celebration, and nothing else. Perhaps he was simply happy to be with two people he loved, sitting in front of him, giving him really nice compliments. Or maybe he was just a really happy kid. Like, way happier than the rest of us.

Did the future, this new phase of entering college, and the prospect of leaving this home behind, not daunt him? There had to be something that he lacked, some sort of sentimentality about the past that the rest of us possessed during this time, and for that reason he felt no need for sadness or tears. In that case, what was his opinion about the other side of this moment with us? The part about having to leave all these people behind. He must have been aware that this was all going to end. That was why we were all crying. So why did he seem, in an almost oblivious way, to not be tapped in to this sadness that was pervading the room? Did this part just not register with him?

Maybe it was this very sadness coming from his peers that was in fact making him happy; to him it was proof that we were good people, that we had hearts and cared for one another. And that alone was enough to make him smile, and think, cool man, I’m with a good crew. Perhaps he was content enough with the abundance that the moment was providing him, and therefore had no space left in his consciousness for any thoughts of tomorrow or yesterday.

So in my sadness, in this dread I had of departing this place, this time in my life, and these people, and in this feeling that I was drowning in the water, I was, in a way, horribly mistaken. Perhaps this Jonah character, who seemed to be floating on this cloud of bliss above all us criers, and, having somehow purged himself of worry and angst and sadness, had found a way to float, and at this height looking down was privy to inhaling all that wonderful fresh air, feasting on all that delicious fruit, the fruit of company, that this joyous occasion had to offer. So what were we doing suffering at the bottom?

Mason

P.S. Your donation at jonahmac.org is always welcome! We are ever grateful for your friendship and support.

Dear friends,

Our autumn fundraiser has ended, but Jonah’s friends have asked to continue writing about him. So we’ll keep sharing those writings here. Enjoy!

Billy

Sarah Stein remembers …

After graduating from Wesleyan University in May of 2012, Sarah moved to Buenos Aires, Argentina, where she has lived for almost a year and a half. She works as a corporate social responsibility coordinator for a logistics company called Plaza Logística, specializing in education-based projects to fight poverty and unemployment in local communities.

Jonah was hilarious. I don’t remember him doing anything halfway. Whether he was acting in a scene or carrying out some elaborate joke, I always imagine him at 100% full energy. That was what made Jonah such an incredible actor. Many of us needed weeks of rehearsal to come out of our shells and to find the courage to approach a new role without fear. Jonah wasn’t afraid to make a mistake. He was so confident and just went for it every time. He was so fun to be around because of that, and was such a natural actor.

Sarah and Jonah
“Hair,” Informal cast photo
Jun 2008

Jonah also cared deeply about others, but showed this side of himself in a different way. He was never over the top about it, but he demonstrated his thoughtfulness in little ways that would surprise you. On the closing night of Hair, Jonah gave us all commemorative pins he had made for the occasion. He got our attention casually during the pre-show ritual and handed one out to each of us. The pin idea came from a scene that I was in, where my character Jeanie is showing off her “Psychedelicize South Korea” pin to her crush, Claude (played by Ross Baum). Throughout the process I had been using a prop pin with no words on it. I remember how cool it was to proudly wear Jonah’s gift on closing night during that scene. And I know it meant so much to all of us to be able to take that gift home, and to have something tangible to look at and remember all the wonderful times we had together during Hair.

When I look at the pin now, those memories come flooding back. But most of all, there’s the memory of Jonah – his wild smile, his fearlessness, his unbeatable energy, and all those little things that let you know that he was really listening, and that he truly cared.

Sarah

P.S. Your donation at jonahmac.org is always welcome! We are ever grateful for your friendship and support.

Dear friends,

Our autumn fundraiser has ended, but Jonah’s friends have asked to continue writing about him. So we’ll keep sharing those writings here. Enjoy!

Billy

Ryan McGovern remembers …

Ryan McGovern is a freelance writer/director and founding creative director of RooMcGoo.com, a web platform for new musical comedy. He is also a proud graduate of PGT and Emerson College, where he studied Directing for Stage and Screen.

I remember with remarkable clarity the moment I first set foot in PGT, and much of the process for the first show I did there, The Hadleyburg Project, which is the show that introduced me to Jonah. As a 14-year-old who stood out like a big theatrical thumb at my all-boy sports-centric high school, I believe working on that show, and finding PGT, has stayed with me on such a deep level because it was the first time I found peers – specifically male peers – who I really connected with, who I felt equal to.

I remember Jonah specifically as one of “the guys” who was so open to me and who welcomed me from the beginning of the process, since we were “the underclassmen” at the time. At first, Jonah so freely making conversation and jokes with me as an instant friend was almost … jarring. Didn’t he know I’m different? That I’m not like him and the other guys? That we aren’t supposed to get along? But my insecurities faded (as they do at PGT!) and Jonah and I bonded over a joke here, and a joke there.

Jonah and Ryan
“The Hadleyburg Project”
Dec 2004

Lots and lots of jokes, really. Jonah’s sense of humor and his openness are two distinct qualities of his personality I still remember, and they were more important to me during a rough year of high school than I think I ever realized.

That was the only show we were in together, but once you were in a show with someone it was always exciting to go see them in a new role every season, your old friend in a whole new show! And when I think back on all of the PGT performances I saw in high school, I have more specific memories of Jonah on stage than of any other peer I saw in those shows. He appeared in so many roles, and many were so vastly different, but he brought his own distinct personality to each of them so that they’re all strung together in my mind like a reel of “Jonah’s greatest hits.”

And I think, again, this is because of the humor and openness that he always brought with him on stage – that was how he brought each new character to life in a way that was distinctly “Jonah,” while also somehow being completely different from the last character you saw him play.

Now that I am a young director and working with a new generation at PGT, I appreciate on a whole new level how rare these qualities are, and how tricky it can be to put them into action so effortlessly. And I try my best every day to teach our young actors to enter the space, and more importantly, to approach life, with humor and openness.

As Jonah proved to me, it can go a long way.

Ryan

P.S. Your donation at jonahmac.org is always welcome! We are ever grateful for your friendship and support.