Today is my birthday. Tomorrow Del Close would have been seventy-five years old. For years, until Del’s death, no matter how far away we were from each other or how long it had been since we’d spoken, Del and I would have two phone conversations in the space of two days, one on March 8th and one on March 9th -- happy birthday phone calls. I miss those calls.
As a young improviser at The Committee, my favorite moments were being on stage and hearing Del’s deep, loud laugh coming from the back of a full house, laughing at something I’d said that I didn’t know was going to come out funny. Today and tomorrow there will be no birthday phone calls. But I thank Del for continuing to challenge me to play harder and dig deeper to hear, however faintly, his laugh, still cutting through the crowd from the back of the house.
As a young improviser at The Committee, my favorite moments were being on stage and hearing Del’s deep, loud laugh coming from the back of a full house, laughing at something I’d said that I didn’t know was going to come out funny. Today and tomorrow there will be no birthday phone calls. But I thank Del for continuing to challenge me to play harder and dig deeper to hear, however faintly, his laugh, still cutting through the crowd from the back of the house.
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