almost all of them were in Robin Bennett's shows. They were mature, creative, intelligent, graceful, fun, and extraordinary. And accessible. They had time for you, because you were part of the drama department, and you belonged. That word means so much to human beings, and moreso to teenaged human beings. Belonging to the drama department was prestigious and important and you didn't have much time to consider it, not if you were doing your best.

Godspell was amazing. Robin Bennett had some of the most talented kids you would ever be privileged to see on one stage for that show. If you missed it, alas. But if you saw it, you were entertained. The graduating class that year took with it some of her best actors. But this sort of thing happened annually, and Robin was used to it by now. She always had more students who would shine.

My senior year was the year of West Side Story, and I had a foot in the world of Select Chorus that year, too. Robin worked closely with Janice Folsom, the chorus director, during my time at FCHS. Ms. Folsom was every bit the peer of Robin. Her choral students were confident and capable, and they won awards wherever they went. And Select Chorus was something I'd wanted to be a part of since I heard them sing Ezekiel Saw the Wheel in my junior high days (I was sorely disappointed to learn that the Select Chorus only performed that song on alternate years, and 1985 was an off year). But that year, the Select Chorus and the drama department went to New York City, back when it was a smaller world, after all. Sunday in the Park with George and Ma Rainey's Black Bottom on Broadway, and Three Guys Naked from the Waist Down off-Broadway... Singing in St. Patrick's Cathedral... Lunch at Tavern on the Green... Sharing a hotel room at the Hotel Edison with only one other student because, as Robin told me with a raised eyebrow, "Sometimes it pays to be one of the good guys..." It was a magnificent week.

And then, West Side Story. I was a Jet, my part being a compilation of lines from a few characters that had been reapportioned amongst several actors. Robin found an unlikely Tony and a ringer for the leader of the Sharks. The amiable Dan Lorton was cast as Doc, continuing the tradition of recruiting teachers for older roles. The cast was huge, and Robin had indispensable help from Lauren in managing the whole thing. Directing, I've come to learn, is half vision and half cat-herding. I came down with tracheal bronchitis the week of dress rehearsals, and my doctor admonished me to stay off my feet for two weeks. I told Robin what he'd advised, and she simply said, "You'll miss the show."

I didn't.

I remember painting the 8'x4' plywood sign for West Side Story, just as I'd done the year before for Godspell. Robin knew I had taken a year of art with Ms. Mickelboro during my sophomore year, and one of the classes I ended up taking was lettering and layout. It wasn't my first choice, but I learned the importance of balance and space, and it ended up with a paintbrush in one hand and a T-square in the other during the production. As it also ended up, I'm now a graphic designer. I might have Robin Bennett to thank for part of that, which is only a part of the impact she's had on my life. I stayed in theater throughout college, and minored in it at Georgia State. None of my later teachers and directors had the unequivocal audacity of Robin Bennett, nor her ability to instill a simultaneous desire for achieving excellence and fear of disappointing the teacher. And absolutely none of them had her temper and unwillingness to suffer fools.

In my freshman year, I often took notes during run-throughs of Mother Courage and some other productions for Robin. The recurring use of the words "pedantic" and "pedestrian" were Robin's subdued way of registering her disappointment with a rehearsal. By the same token, Robin Bennett was the first teacher I'd ever heard use foul language with a class. The shock wore off very quickly, but she can still claim the title for Most Devastating Use of the F-Word from one afternoon during a West Side Story rehearsal, when someone running the book gave an actor their line without being asked. I'll not repeat the sentence, but it was brief but impressively savage. The mistake was not repeated. I say these things not to impugn Robin's character in the least; as I've gone along the years, my impressions of Robin Bennett are increasingly respectful and sincerely fond. She was the first adult to treat my classmates and me as the adults we were to be, and she held us to higher expectations as a result. She sugar-coated nothing, and that was more honesty than we could expect from most of her colleagues. But what could we expect? Being a teacher is a thankless job most of the time, and the renumeration is preposterously incongruous with the dedication and hours invested in the profession. To think that sainthood is part of the job description is specious and as optimistic as hoping a unicorn will drop by someday and teach you how to play banjo. Robin Bennett probably has flaws. This is because she's probably human. Maybe superhuman in some aspects. But, from my point of view, she was one of the three teachers Ive had who earned my complete respect, and unquestionably the most influential teacher on my life:

If not for Robin Bennett, I would have never read the 64th Sonnet by Shakespeare. I would have never been interested in standing on a stage for more than a few songs in a choral setting. I wouldn't have maintained a rather neutral speaking dialect. I wouldn't have learned to think away minor aches and pains. I wouldn't have learned at an early age the importance of transcending beyond merely average. I wouldn't have tried as hard as I did, or do now. And I suspect I'm not the only one who can compile this sort of list. Perhaps more to the point: I hope my children find a Robin Bennett in their schooling.

After I graduated from Fayette County High School, I was asked by Robin to perform in a couple of bit parts in two community theater shows she directed: I Remember Mama and Arsenic and Old Lace. I was honored and flattered, and jumped at the chance to spend some more time in the auditorium with Robin and a group of actors, united for the magical spell of live performance. I admit, nostalgia played a small role. But never underestimate loyalty, especially to Robin Bennett. I understand military commanders enjoy a similar devotion from their retired troops.

Not long after she moved away from FCHS and Georgia, I started to have occasional dreams about Robin. They were fairly similar: Robin would call me up and ask me to be in another show. No small parts, only small actors. And can you learn Romeo's lines in time for next weekend? This theme varied very little, and I had the dreams a few times a year through most of the 90s and early into the new century. I don't question my subconscious, I merely report it here. I had another of these dreams this summer, and each time I think I should try to get in touch with her, just to thank her, maybe ask her what she thinks of Brecht's The Beggar or The Dead Dog and his poem, The Mask of Evil. But what do you say to someone you've not seen in a quarter of a century, someone who has profoundly affected you in fundamental ways, someone for whom your respect and admiration could be easily mistaken by careless observers as mere fealty?

You say thank you, and you hope that person knows that your life is better for her involvement. Congratulations, Robin, on your retirement. Public education will never recover the loss.

Quick recollections of moments from long ago:

Overnight crew calls where the set would miraculously arise from nothingness...
Learning to fill the auditorium with my voice so the fire extinguisher in the back of F.A. Sams could hear me...
Meeting Mary Nell Santacroce backstage at The Alliance Theater...
A long, macram keyring for the trailer...
Vulgar Shakespeare on the backstage wall...
Chewing your vowels...
Grounding ourselves with the stomp and the vietnamese squat for Mother Courage performances...
Swimming in December in Valdosta at midnight, fully-clothed and freezing, but full of life...
Rockathons while watching Ghandi and Return of the Jedi...
Selling stock in Prologue Players...
Watching Finian's Rainbow on videotape and marveling at the guy on the trapeze...


And three quotes from Robin:

Always take a breath before going onstage!
There are no small parts, only small actors.
Sin boldly, so that grace may abound...

November 5/6, 2009
________________

My friend of a thousand years and more called me twenty minutes ago to let me know he'd received another message from Robin's daughter. Robin Bennett died of cancer Tuesday morning. Her children had read the tributes of her students to her so she'd know what kind of an influence she'd had on them.

I was completely stunned by the news. It had never occurred to me that Robin Bennett would ever die. It hadn't entered my mind. Forces of nature just keep knocking down mountains and churning oceans. I was immeasurably grateful that I'd had an opportunity to finally tell her thank you, although it was a long time coming.

Robin Bennett's was a life well-lived, I hope. I can't imagine she'd settle for anything less.