I know I've been away for awhile and it irks me that after not writing for a number of months since my last post, about my father's passing, what brings me back is another post about death. It's not my intent for this to become the Death Blog but...well...a very good man died today and I felt like writing about him.
Back when I was in college I had a teacher. Okay, I had a bunch of teachers, but was blessed with a few who were really quite extraordinary. One such man was John Edward Blankenchip, a gentleman who I referred to, lovingly (kinda), as "you ol' fucker".
He was the crankiest, crotchetiest, snarliest piece of work I ever came across. I'll always be thankful for the things he taught me about theatre and acting and all that good stuff, and I'll always be thrilled that he showed a great deal of belief in me. More than anything, though, I owe him an enormous debt of gratitude for, not to put too fine a point on it, more or less saving my life.
When I hit the absolute bottom during my time as a drunk and drug addict (coke-head) and had pretty well hosed up just about every facet of my life, culminating with...well...let's just say a particularly ugly event that resulted in being arrested and looking at some pretty harsh consequences...the ol' fucker went well out of his way to help me straighten that mess out and, with his customary subtlety and tenderness (meaning he pretty much hit me with a 2-by-4) was, more than anyone else, responsible for helping me get straight and sober. I learned alot from him but that one act showed me the difference that you can make in someone's life simply by giving a damn. And, at a time when I made it pretty hard for anyone to find much that was good in me and when I had essentially given up on myself, he rather tenaciously forced me to see me in the same positive light that he saw me. Which was enough to get me to white knuckle my way through the mess I'd made of my life. In comparison to most drunks I know, my bottom really wasn't that bad. But it seemed pretty awful to me as I was going through it, scared shitless at 21 years old. I've often wondered how far down I would have sunk had it not been for the velvet hammer of the ol' fucker being brought to bear and have always feared that, without that rather fortunate one man intervention, I never would have stopped falling. Fortunately, Blankenchip ensured that I'd never have to find out just how much more damage I could do to myself.
And for that I am deeply and forever thankful.
