MENTOR, ROLE MODEL, GURU, FRIEND
It Just Keeps Getting Better (portrait of John Raymond Freimann) oil 12 x 12" Donated to Whitman College, July 2013 in honor of Jack Freimann’s many years of service to Harper Joy Theatre.
This natty gent, Jack Freimann, is also professor emeritus of Theatre Arts at my alma mater, Whitman College. He was head of the department when I was there, having elevated it into a renowned theatre program, one of the most intensive and active of the time.
I asked my fellow theatre grads on Facebook to help me name this painting by telling me their favorite Jack line; plenty of stories came out, but the most common were memories of him being encouraging (“Wuuunderful!” was one of his signature words. And “Faaaaabulous.” And his highest praise for a rehearsal: “It just keeps getting better!” Big Medicine, that. And so, the title winner.)
Every theater student of my vintage remembers Jack’s little Scottish Terrier, Lachie. He was a nervous and devoutly one-man dog, always under Jack’s feet, and as a result, he lived his entire life with his coat entirely covered with dropped cigarette ash. Like all pets, he had his moments, and the irritated muttering of “Goddammit, Lachie!” became one of our favorite Jack lines to imitate. To this day, that is still my favorite curse.
But Jack was not an irritable man. On the contrary, he had witnessed every bit of adolescent drama and self-delusion on the planet after teaching college for so many years–and still, he managed to be funny, generous, and unfailingly kind. Wisely, he was also down-to-earth. No nonsense. Get over yourself, we have a play to put on here. He was a consummate pro, and his mission was to instill that respect for the theatre and the craft in each of us obstreperous youths. Which is why the infamous semi-annual “Goddammit Speech” had such an impact...
Almost every year, what with classwork, rehearsing, building, painting, and decorating sets, hanging lights, making costumes, assembling props, and otherwise helping to make all the myriad details of 10 productions a year happen, we students would hit a wall. We allowed ourselves too much horsing around. Too many missed cues, lackluster rehearsals, fumbled stage business, forgotten lines, confused blocking... and Jack would call a halt. We’d slink into the house, and he’d park himself on the apron of the stage, legs crossed, the eternal cigarette trembling in the corner of his mouth, and he’d fold his arms and peer at us over his glasses. Silence. We knew what was coming. We knew we deserved it. We knew we’d allowed parties and tiredness and hormones and deadlines and overdue papers to distract and unnerve us, and we’d lost all professionalism and had reverted to acting like the silly kids we were. Not good enough. Jack had his own wall, a boundary line for self-indulgent baloney. So he let us know that he was disappointed, and why. We withered. Whether he swore or not, (which, in fact, he did rarely, considering what he was up against) this was known as the Goddammit Speech. And it was magical. We respected him so, wanted to please him so, knew his very high standards were what made us learn and do some things right, knew that his priorities were dead on, and that what he had to teach us was necessary and profound. So we rallied. And without fail, we were back on track. Until the next time...
What is the secret to inspiring that kind of respect? Wish I knew. Maybe we had just enough good sense to recognize The Real Deal when we saw it, and somehow knew that is aspirational and difficult to achieve for yourself. Jack Freimann is a real theatre person; he acts, designs sets, sees every show produced in NYC (and has a hand in lots of them in various ways), reads every play written, and owns the score to every musical ever. And he’s an excellent human being.
So thank you, Jack, for your humor, your wisdom, your patience, your hard work, your craft, and your discipline. It did us all a world of good. And you know what? It all did just keep getting better. XXOO