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Thoughts on José Brown71
From
Seth Wittner 73
I got to know José Brown [May 01, Arte Povera]
while playing piano for dance classes at Reed. I didnt know
him well, but still have vivid memories of him. Wed bump into
each other somewhere and talk for awhile. He had a broad, beaming
smile and a joyousness about him that made me feel good about myself
and glad to be alive. José would do some impossible dance move
that seemed like throwing himself toward the ground and ending up
floating parallel to it. I couldnt believe my eyes. He defied
gravity. It was inspiring.
Over the years, whenever Ive been in circumstances that have
had me down, Ive thought of José to pick myself up and
find courage. Thats the kind of force of nature he was. Even
though I barely knew him, hes been someone who has stuck with
me. I couldnt shake him loose if I tried. When I go to
a dance concert of any kind, José Brown is the standard by
which I measure what I see.
It was hard to read about the end of Josés life. I knew
that he died of AIDS a few years ago, but
I didnt know about his homelessness. Louise Steinman did an
important thing by letting us all remember José, his incredible
gift, dedication to his art, and beauty as a human being. I only wish
he could still be with us. I wish he could know what he means to me.
Thanks for the writing on José. I didnt
know hed died. I still think of him from time to time. . . . Hes
the kind of guy who pops into your mind to give hope when the goings
tough. José was inspiring because he was straight ahead. He was
in a car accident in 1970 or so. He broke both legs and the doctor said
he would never dance again. . . . viva!
Your article about José touched me on several
levels. I was a Reed student 197375 and spring 77, in theatre,
psych, and a number of other pursuits. I dont think I ever met
José, but I wish I had. Ive come to realize that brilliant
people dont just congregate in the real world the way they did
at Reed.
Im guilty of taking brilliance for granted. I was particularly
touched by Josés illness and his refusal to succumb to
that illness. Your article arrived at a sensitive time for me; this
week marks the anniversary of another death from AIDS. My fiancé,
Stephen Juhl, graduated from Reed in 1975. His death in 1989 was way
too premature. I was also reminded of Jonathan Rome, who graduated in
1974, one of the most talented actors I ever knew. We were passing friends,
never as close as I would have liked, and he, too, died of AIDS. Perhaps
if José had lived, hed have found some material evidence
of appreciation in the world; perhaps he would have gone on struggling
against the commercial view of art which failed to support him. All
these men had dances to dance, parts to play, and stories to tell. Our
world is poorer for their loss.
I slipped my Reed magazine out of its envelope today and gasped at
the cover. Was it José? It had to be! How marvelous! Whats
he been up to all these years? I had wondered hundreds of times where
he was, what he was doing. I could never find him. Then it all turned
to dust as I read the article, learning that he had died. Not only
that, but he had died years ago, and my momentary dream of connecting
with him again was gone.
José and I were good friends in 197071. Living overseas
almost since the day I graduated, I had drifted out of touch with
almost everyone. A couple of years ago I reconnected with Bedene Greenspan
71, now in Berlin, but José eluded me. I remember his
extraordinary vitality, optimism, engagement with everyone and everything
around him; that incredible smile. And yet he revealed very little
of himself to me. Just knowing and thinking he was alive somewhere,
even if out of reach, enriched me all these years; and life is immensely
poorer for knowing he has gone, that he will never again brighten
anyones room simply by walking into it. The thought of him alone,
sick, poor and homeless, even for a day, is terrible. Im indebted
to those who were able to be with him and care for him at the end.
From Dorothy M.
Weaver 35
Your article on José Brown is about a self-pitying parasite
whose life may be worthy of a grade B movie. Of course Reed people
are titillated by such golly gee events, most of whom
have never lived or worked on the ground outside the U.S.
and are impressed by such a life. I find this nine-page article a
brave attempt to communicate something. Myself, I find real African
dancers much more interesting.
I had graduated from Reed and was on slippery ground when I first
met Brown. I was living crammed into a studio apartment with another
Reed graduate and a ferret, working a wretched low-paying retail job,
taking dance classes as often as possible, and wondering how my desire
to become a dance artist was ever going to be realized. During this
time Brown arrived in Portland to teach a master class and select
participants for a performance at the Echo Theater, and I signed up.
The group quickly dwindled to three, and I found myself thrown into
a completely new and not altogether understandable experience. Beginning
with improvisation, Brown guided us through a series of movements,
including the slowest sit-up I have ever done in my life! These and
other unconventional movements were performed in costumes made out
of Salvation Army long underwear amongst
a sea of huge black balloons. Brown, covered in white body paint,
suspended himself from the ceiling by pulleys while his dance partner
Akemi smoked a cigarette even more slowly than my sit-up. The name
of the piece was Where the Moon Goes and he referred to
it as very Butoh. Unsure as I was as to the meaning of
the piece or what my specific role was, I nevertheless devoted myself
to the production. As the budget was nearly nonexistent, we all pitched
in to sew costumes, create the program, and help with the technical
needs of the show.
This experience propelled me forward toward making the choice to become
a dance performer,
and shortly thereafter I moved to New York. I am now a dancer and
choreographer in the Bay Area. My work fuses both modern and Butoh
aesthetics, and I realize it is not unlike the piece I performed in
over 10 years ago. I am grateful for the experience I had with Brown
and the chance to witness his passion, dedication, and fearless conviction
in action. I appreciate it all the more now as the climate for artists
grows increasingly difficultI think, no matter how tough things
get, Brown and others like him find a way to endure, and I push onward.
The Legacy of Lloyd Williams
From David H. Ransom,
Jr. 57
It was with sadness tinged with nostalgia that I read
of Professor Lloyd Williamss passing (Reed, February 2001). My
years at Reed often seem a long time ago, 40-odd years. But the mention
of Professor Williams immediately brought those years into sharp focus
again. Faced with a sometimes indifferentor at least occasionally
distractedstudent (myself), Professor Williams proceeded to do
what he did best: teach. Almost in spite of myself, he taught me the
math that I would surely need in the future with a combination of cajolery
and humor and rigor. And the fundamentals, which he stressed so strongly,
have served me well in the decades that followed. I was a physics major
who spent his professional life in engineering, electronics, and computers,
and mathematics has served as the foundation for all that I have done.
I certainly never suspected that would be the case as Professor Williams
labored to teach me what he knew I would need. I was, shall we say,
a reluctant if reasonably obedient math student.
The space program and the personal computer were hardly a glimmer in
anyones eyes in
the mid-1950s, certainly not mine. Yet the math tools with which Professor
Williams equipped me have served well for all these years in those very
fields. Mathematics may be able to exist without physics, but the converse
is definitely not true. For example, my satellite tracking program STSPLUS
(available free at http://www.dransom.com) includes dozens of pages
of complex formulae. The algorithms themselves are the product of U.S.
Space Command but the ability to understand them sufficiently to put
them to practical use is without doubt due to Professor Williams and
his skill and persistence. The frames of reference may have changed
substantially in the interval, but the logical analysis and math fundamentals
behind them have not. NASA distributes my program to our schools and,
with luck, it may serve to interest another generation in math and science
and space. I certainly hope they are as fortunate as I was and learn
from a teacher with the dedication and the skill of Professor Williams.
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