I got the call that my friend had died on Wednesday evening. I was in a theater, writing lighting cues for Les Misérables. Of course that’s when I’d hear. Richard and I met in a theater, and over the years we attended or worked on hundreds of productions together.
Later that night, I read through the last few months of text messages we’d shared. He unfailingly corrected my grammar and bemoaned that I wouldn’t punctuate the ends of sentences. I looked through the album of portraits I’ve taken over the past several years during our weekly lunches. I stopped short of listening to the recordings I’ve made recently, not yet ready for that. I shared stories about him with another friend until very late, then went to bed.
I think I’ve already written the best tribute I can make, a piece called Richard Enders: Life on Stage, from 2015. I was lucky to be able to spend time with him recently, and at some point I’ll get to work editing those recordings. In the meantime, I’m re-reading our final exchange, from Sunday evening.
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