2016 has been one crazy year for people dying – both famous people in the media and folks right off my Facebook of friends. One particular death that hit me hard is the death of a fellow teacher, Dennis Sims from West Palm Beach. When I was State Director for Florida State Thespians, I spent over a decade watching his shows and admiring his work. He was one of very few high school directors who put the story above everything. He was not the musical kind of guy (as am I). He wanted to tell tough stories like Patient A, All My Sons and others that pushed the maturity level of his students to the utmost. I LOVED his work. I only wish I knew him better, but being located a state away, we only met for those moments that we could enjoy each others work. He died all too young this week. One of his co-workers, Beverly Blanchette, worked with him every day – and is also one of the best high school directors that we had in Florida. She wrote such a beautiful eulogy that I asked her permission to copy it here. Although you will not know the names of the people or the specifics of the letter, I believe you will experience what we all feel in the educational theatre business. You will relate; I am sure!
I was honored today to speak at the Celebration of Life Service of our dear Dennis Sims. For those who couldn’t attend, here are my words:
Sorry, I’m not off book Mr. Sims. I was up all night writing a speech for a teacher who won’t let me get out of it.
Susan, Jason, & Justin:
Thank you for asking me to speak today. I can’t believe we’re here to say goodbye to you, Dennis. But, there couldn’t be a better place for this occasion. The School of Arts was your home for many years. All those days in building 7. All those nights & weekends right here in Meyer Hall. And, all the memories you created on this stage.
Everyone here has a memory of Dennis Sims, but we’re only a fraction of the many lives he’s touched. Imagine those who wanted to be here, but couldn’t. Certainly, he’d fill 5 theaters with all those who knew & loved him.
Of course, many knew Dennis the family man, Dennis the friend, & Dennis the teacher. Many knew him as a colleague & co-worker; but, he was more than that to me. He was my partner & friend.
I met Dennis about 30 years ago. Half of my lifetime ago. We were then, the age our kids are now–in our 30s. I’d been teaching drama for about 10 years & he was starting a new career. I was teaching at Santaluces High & a coworker there told me about the
Director of Drama Ministries at First Baptist Church. He said his friend just started teaching drama at Lake Worth High School & was looking for someone to give him a little advice. He asked if I’d call him. I did.
When we met, I thought, “Wow. This guy is really enthusiastic.”
I immediately liked him. I felt we were kindred spirits because we both really wanted to teach. Teaching wasn’t a “fall back” job to us. It was what we really wanted to do.
We met & talked on the phone many times during those first years. He’d ask about plays to direct, lesson plans, Thespian competitions, acting exercises,& many of those things we theatre teachers ponder like, “How do I get my sets built?”
I told him, “You ask my husband.” That’s when he became Ed’s friend, too. And, Ed built many a Sims’ set.
Dennis would take some of my advice & run with it & other advice, he’d toss–because he didn’t need much help, after all. He was naturally a good teacher & director–as we all came to know.
Before long, Dennis & I had leading drama programs in the district & we loved being friendly competitors because we weren’t competing against each other; we competed with each other.
Cut to a few years later when I moved to the Palm Beach County School of Arts (now Dreyfoos). A year later, our principal, Mr. Duhy, asked if I knew anyone who could fill an additional position in our department. Immediately, I said, “Dennis Sims.”
I was reminded of this history when Nick McMann told me his Mr. Sims story last night. Apparently, Nick was a bit of a problem in Dennis’s freshmen class. One day he pulled Nick outside & said, “I know you’re better than this & I want you to behave.” Nick said, “You don’t like me & I don’t belong here. Why don’t you just kick me out?”
Mr. Sims said, “You’re here because I saw something in you at your audition. So, don’t tell me I don’t like you. I chose you to be here & you’re not going to let me down.”
Nick said if it wasn’t for what Dennis said to him that day, he would’ve taken a different path. He said his life was better because he knew Dennis.
I realized, then, how much better my life was because Dennis chose me to help him. Then, I remembered that I chose him as my partner at the School of Arts. Fate had us choose each other.
We all have co-workers and we get along with them, but Dennis & I were a special team. We supported each other. He was with me for every performance of every play I directed & I was with him at all of his. Not because we had to be, but because we wanted to be.
We listened to each other. Sometimes, we disagreed, but the solution always came down to what was best for the students. And, because that was our goal, disagreements never lasted long.
Dennis was a dynamic director & he had very little ego about that. When he thought he needed help with something, he asked. Like the time he brought in a mime specialist to choreograph the drowning scene in “The Diviners.” Or when he brought in an original cast member to teach the Broadway choreography in “A Chorus Line.” He always made sure his students got the most out of every experience.
He’d watch my rehearsals & I’d watch his. We’d give each other notes & learn from each other. When I directed “Twelfth Night” (which started with a shipwreck), Dennis suggested a pre-show 30 minutes before curtain during which the crew, (in costume) would lie frozen strewn about the stage as if killed at sea. I was like, “Ummmmm, I don’t know about that….,” but the kids loved the idea. So, he directed them to stay absolutely still, as if dead, for 30 minutes pre-show. Then, Calypso music played, they jumped up & danced off stage, & the play would begin. Of course, he made them rehearse it. Over & over. They were really good at playing dead. It was hilarious & a perfect beginning to the show. It was one of the moments we remember most.
I could write a book about my adventures with Dennis.
Now, I know I’m painting a pretty perfect picture of our work together, but we weren’t always as polite as we asked our students to be. We used to sit together during one-act play festivals that sometimes went on for days. We’d watch about 10 high school plays a day & some of them were good. To help us get through, we renamed the titles in the program. It started with “You’re a Good Man Charlie Brown.” In the comics, Charlie Brown is kind of short & stocky. But, the Charlie in this production was very tall & thin. I don’t know who started it, but the title in the program was crossed out & someone wrote over it, “You’re a THIN Man, Charlie Brown.”
Just last night, our daughter, Megan, showed me a picture of Dennis & me at the Florida Theatre Conference where our students auditioned for colleges. I’d like to think it was late at night after all the college reps left their tables where they interviewed students. There we were, very seriously, behind a table marked “Seemore Butts University” ready to interview prospective students. I wonder whose idea that was….
Dennis was the “other man” in my life and I was the “other woman” in his.
And, by that I mean that he was my BFF for 30 years. He was more like a brother than a co-worker.
We both retired a few years ago, but we still got together from time to time for happy hour somewhere. He’d have a rum & Coke; I’d have a vodka soda. We’d talk for hours about our spouses (it was all good, Susan & Ed!), our kids, our grandchildren, & of course: theatre education.
Susan, thank you for calling last Sunday to suggest I visit him in the hospital. I was blessed to give him a final hug & to thank him for being my friend. It was divine intervention when these words popped out of my mouth, “Dennis, you’ve always been the director, but now it’s time for you to take direction.” And, he did. The next morning, he was given his last bit of action. And as good actors do, he simply said, “Thank you,” & took his exit.
Dennis: we are better people because you chose us to be in your life. Thank you for all you gave us & all that you taught us.
In another favorite Sims-directed play, “Patient A,” the character of the real Kimberly Bergalis (before her death) said to her sister, “If there’s ever a graduation or you’re giving an important speech, I want you to leave a seat for me, because I’ll be there.” In true Sims’ form, he made each moment real for his “kids” by leaving a seat open for Kim Bergalis whenever “Patient A” was performed.
I think whenever there’s an important speech or we produce a play, we should leave an open seat for Mr. Sims. Because he’ll be there.
So, it’s time for your curtain call, Mr. Sims.
Standby: Sound Cue 1.
Freeze in your character pose, Mr. Sims.
“Enya” music: Go.
Unfreeze.
Take your bow.
Fade back to your character pose. Freeze in time as we’ll remember you. Standby: light cue 1.
Light cue 1: Go.
Fade to black.
Sound cue 2: Go.
Fade “Enya” music.
Thunderous applause.
Standing Ovation.