And How Remembered?

Yesterday, I read the news accounts of the death of actor Brian Dennehy, 81. (Link to New York Times story.) Several of the headlines mentioned him as the “star” of Tommy Boy, that wild 1995 comedy starring SNL pals Chris Farley (RIP) and David Spade. This was the headline on Yahoo News: Brian Dennehy, "Tommy Boy" Star, Dies at 81.*

He was hardly the star, was he? It’s his death near the beginning of the film that propels his son (Farley) into his position as an on-the-road salesman (with Spade) to secure contracts for the late father’s auto-parts business. Some crazy stuff happens—as you may recall.

I’m sure, of course, that those headline-writers wanted to remind readers who Dennehy was, but I bet he would laugh if he could hear how important Tommy Boy became in his career!

I do remember that film (and, confession: I’ve seen it more than once), and I remember him in some others like First Blood and Cocoon. And as I look at his complete film list in IMDB, I realize a couple of things: He did a lot of films; I saw a lot of them.

But what I remember most clearly about him? His stage performances. Joyce and I used to attend the Stratford (Ontario) Theatre Festival every year—from, oh about 2002-2017. We saw eleven plays in six days, and, several times—several memorable times—we saw Dennehy.

And he was something to see, live.

We saw him as Sir Toby Belch in Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night, a production that updated the setting, not the language. (He was a guy who loved golf.)

We also saw him in a one-man production: Krapp’s Last Tape, a one-act play, by Samuel Beckett. The play is about a man with a reel-to-reel tape recorder, and at one point on the day we saw it, the recorder stopped working. Dennehy paused, stood and walked off the stage. A bit later, a crew member brought out a different one, and on they went, as if nothing had happened.

The last time we saw him was in a great production of Waiting for Godot, also by Samuel Beckett. There was a Q&A after the production, and there he was, in make-up, obviously weary, but answering questions with intelligence and aplomb.

We had seen him one other time, too—exiting another Stratford performance with us. We’d noticed him in the audience—it was an arena theater venue, and he was directly across the acting area from us. Couldn’t take our eyes off of him. Watched him more than the play.

And it was quite by accident that we ended up right behind him in the exit flow. It was all I could do to stop myself from tapping him on the shoulder, telling him how much his performances had meant to me. Didn’t do it—wish I had. (And I cannot even remember what we were supposed to be watching that day!)

Dennehy’s death headlines made me pause a bit. We can’t really know what we’re going to be remembered for, can we? Will it be the great things we did? Or the mistakes? The right moves we made? Or the wrong ones? The people we loved? The people we hurt?

I guess I’m glad I don’t know. I realize all too clearly the good, the bad, the ugly of my life.


*You'll note that the Times headline is more ... generous.