Bob Pinney: The Rest Is Silence
April 13th, 2009, 4:06 pm · 19 Comments · posted by bmosley
People
No people are uninteresting.
Their fate is like the chronicle of planets.
Nothing in them in not particular,
and planet is dissimilar from planet.
And if a man lived in obscurity
making his friends in that obscurity
obscurity is not uninteresting.
To each his world is private
and in that world one excellent minute.
And in that world one tragic minute
These are private.
In any man who dies there dies with him
his first snow and kiss and fight
it goes with him.
There are left books and bridges
and painted canvas and machinery
Whose fate is to survive.
But what has gone is also not nothing:
by the rule of the game something has gone.
Not people die but worlds die in them.
Whom we knew as faulty, the earth’s creatures
Of whom, essentially, what did we know?
Brother of a brother? Friend of friends?
Lover of lover?
We who knew our fathers
in everything, in nothing.
They perish. They cannot be brought back.
The secret worlds are not regenerated.
And every time again and again
I make my lament against destruction.
Yevgeny Yevtushenko
The world that died with Bob Pinney was vast and colorful, rich and elegant… and much of it was private - quietly lived moments both tragic and excellent.
I was privileged, as many of us were, to be part of that wonderful world, and to have Bob in ours. In each line of Shakespeare I recite, in my awareness of gesture, Bob lives. Each time I enunciate ‘FOR-GET’ rather than ‘fergit’, Bob’s voice, ponderous and gravelly, is heard again. In my life as an actor, moving from role to role, in my telling and retelling of stories, my fond recounting of stage disasters and profound moments, Bob will always be present, informing my journey. In my understanding of what it is to be loved though one’s family is far away, to live alone but not to be lonely, Bob is there.
My experience with him as a young actor taken under his wing, groomed and nurtured, is not unique. Always the teacher, Bob loved new talent and did whatever he could to encourage and advocate it. He was always one of my strongest supporters and biggest fans, and I, among many others, adored him. I remember being shocked during Dracula (Theatreworks, 1991) when Bob, playing Van Helsing, actually cut his finger every night with a hidden Exacto blade to tempt the Count (Rick Zahradnik) with his blood. He spared himself nothing in his quest to offer the audience everything.
Bob spent his 70th birthday in a tent playing King Lear, a role he had yearned to inhabit for many years; it was my great honor to share that experience with him. The entire run was amazing, but that night was… magical: the air was electric. At the moment Lear was cast out onto the heath, one of the most powerful scenes in English-speaking theatre, as the first storm cue sounded, real thunder began to rumble in the distance. As Bob raged and wept, imperious and heartbreaking, the rest of the cast stood amazed as lightning blazed across the sky and rain pounded the tent… for exactly as long as the scene went on, relenting the instant he left the stage. I will believe for the rest of my life that Shakespeare was there with us that night and that the storm was Bob’s birthday gift, a reward for a life spent in devotion to the theatre.
Over the last few years it became clear that his poor body was no longer able to house the enormity of him. During the Scottish Play in 2005 there was a terrible moment in which, playing the Porter, marvelous as always, he was unable to find his way off the stage, frantically feeling his way along the curtains to find the exit. Those of us backstage realized what was going on and reached out from behind the blacks to grab his hands and guide him; later the understanding of it wrote itself across our faces as we all looked at each other and tried not to know the truth: the great instrument was failing. He bore it with grace and without fear, exceeding his doctors’ expectations and offering more comfort than he required… and then, quietly, he was gone.
He was a huge talent, a tireless mentor, a dear friend, a gracious host and a wonderful chef who showed his affection with corned beef and cabbage or gourmet birthday cakes. He understood sorrow and offered comfort whenever he could. He was fervent in his praise, generous with advice, gentle but truthful in his criticisms, blunt in his admonishments. I was fortunate to have almost two decades with him – countless moments to cherish, too numerous and precious to recount here. I loved him, and ache to think of never hearing his laugh again.
He was… extraordinary.
Your cause of sorrow must not be measured by his worth, for then it hath no end.
– Macbeth
If you have a memory of Bob you’d like to share, please click on COMMENTS.
THEATREWORKS will host a memorial gathering to honor the life and art of Bob Pinney at the Dusty Loo Bon Vivant Theater on Monday, May 4, at 6:00 p.m.
Everyone is welcome, and many may wish to share a memory of Bob, onstage and off.
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He was, as Betty Ross put it so well, “a force.” Dear, dear Beth, I cannot match your eloquence nor the love in every word of your own tribute to Bob, nor will I try. But as you and others know, I too had the honor and the privilege of his friendship for over 25 years and so feel the need to speak of my friend and long-time colleague.
Perhaps a role that Bob might have been better known for had it not been for the towering achievements of his Lear and Scrooge was that of the Norweigian polar explorer Roald Amundson in our 1983 production of “Terra Nova.” In the confines of a very un-polar like Dwire Hall, Bob wore the furs and inhabited the soul of that relentlessly driven adventurer as he, and I as Robert Falcon Scott, battled to reach the South Pole first. Bob spread his arms around that role and so incarnated Amundson, that when we brought a picture of the real Amundson to rehearsal, there was a shock as the cast saw….BOB ! The smile, the goatee, the enormous energy of the chase—all were there in that 1911 photograph but they were also on the Dwire stage. Captain Scott of the Antarctic, with his manners and his gentility, his insistence on playing the game by English drawing room rules, didn’t have a chance. Bob’s creation of Amundson helped send the Dwire Hall audience into the spring evening each night of the run feeling much colder than the temperatures warranted.
Bob could, and did, play the supporting roles with as much grace and intensity of effort and care as he did the lead roles. We in the theater community know this, but perhaps other readers do not. It’s a measure of his professionalism and talent that Bob was able to bring every arrow in his quiver to such roles, be they comedic or dramatic. To cite but one, his Philosophy master in Molière’s “The Bourgeois Gentleman,” which we did in 1999, was a comedic gem and the key scene that he and I played together in that show was one that, in rehearsal, I always had a hard time keeping focused and not cracking up with laughter, for Bob’s timing, diction, and wit made that old scene shine with new luster.
One more and I’ll stop: Bob’s creation of Willy Loman’s successful brother Ben, in “Death of a Salesman,” was so sharply defined and full a character, that the rest of us in the cast could not imagine a more perfect realization.
Perhaps it was fitting that our own last good-bye to Dwire Hall, the very last words spoken in a production in that room, where Theatreworks had mounted so many superb productions over so many years, was spoken by Bob as the poignant Firs in “The Cherry Orchard,” which we closed in the spring of 2003. He was the beginning and the ending of everything theater ought to be, and we were all graced with his presence and honored that he should have made his home here. With us.
LOVE THAT PICTURE!!!
And I’ll miss Bob. First of all, I want to say that in my story today, which I’m glad they ran on A1 (well deserving), I had the wrong day for the memorial. I’ll run a correction in tomorrow’s paper. I’ve already corrected it online.
It’s actually May 4.
I’ve known Bob for almost 20 years. I acted with him in “Laughter on the 23rd Floor.” What a fun show, and what a great experience to get to know Bob a little better.
As an actor, I’m sure most of you folks are familiar with the Pinney baptism. Bob’s a classic spitter. He let loose with big gobs of spittle on stage, and if you were in his line of fire … well, it was going to be a wet experience.
We’ve had some terrific actors in this town. Still do. But I don’t know that we have anybody with Bob’s class. His sense of grandeur. Working on stage with him, you felt you were doing theater with a capital T.
My first experience with Bob was as a beginning actor in 1982 during “A Christmas Carol” at UCCS. It was a lesson in projection. While playing a younger version of him I had to stand there while Bob (Scrooge) screamed at me just inches from my face. Since that soaking experience Bob has directed me, acted with me and helped further develop my voice talent. We worked together thorough the 80s and 90s doing radio spots. Bob was my key guy when I needed a character voice and was the ultimate professional.
My most memorable experience acting with Bob was in Theatreworks “Dracula” in 1991. As mentioned in an earlier blog Bob as Van Helsing would actually cut his finger during performances. What the audience didn’t know is that I, as Dracula almost passed out the first time he surprised me with it. Imagine Dracula passing out at the site of blood.
Thanks again Bob.
Like Scrooge, Bob had a bit of a crusty demeanor at times but also a sense of humor. He was always willing to appear in short films and comedy spoofs and was good natured about the roasts I produced involving most of the actors he had worked with.
I owe a lot to Bob Pinney and I treasure the time I spent with him recently. He will always be a friend and teacher.
“He was the beginning and the ending of everything theater ought to be, and we were all graced with his presence and honored that he should have made his home here. With us.”
Chris, that’s lovely… and so right. Perfect.
FROM WHIT ANDREWS:
I often used to wonder about the relative magnitudes of fishes and ponds, but I think that Bob was a towering figure, period. Ponds and fish seem irrelevant.
While practically no one there remembers it, I will always treasure his booming performance as Roald Amundsen in my production of TERRA NOVA followed very closely by his Herr Schultz in CABARET.
I wish that Sharon and I could be there on May 4 but we will be marking that occasion privately.
He was truly one of a kind and I, for one, will never forget him.
Best,
Whit Andrews
What wonderful stories and memories of the great man we will all long remember — I did a summer Shakespeare tour with Bob when I was fresh out of high school, and was very intimidated by his “crusty demeanor” and rapid-fire wit, who was always quick with a joke — usually at one of our not-so-witty actor’s expense. I took his voice and articulation class, concerned that his wit and my sensitivity would make for a tough semester — and was suprised to meet another side of Bob entirely. His role as my teacher was very different from my experience with him as an actor — he had a gentle, guiding touch that made a challenging subject into one of the most memorable, and even life-changing, of the many things I tried to learn in school. He will be dearly missed…
Reading all your heartfelt sentiments has been truly moving. For myself, I am (unusually) at a loss for words. I got to know Bob in his later warmer and fuzzier years. It was an honor and a real pleasure to work with him. Lear was my only chance to work with him, but onstage, backstage, in rehearsal, or at the party, he was a great gentleman, a consummate actor, and a fine example of what is best in people.
I know his passing leaves a great hole in this world, but for myself, the joy of having experinced him in my life–and all our collective wonderful, fond memories–sort of outweighs the sadness. Thanks to all of you for sharing and making this a celebration of a great life.
John Barber
Johnny! I miss you! I’ve been trying to find you for a while now. springsplayreading@gmail.com.
BTW, when Bob was too unwell to perform during that run you were absolutely stellar. It’s one of my favorite memories of you and of Lear.
On that note, it’s a testament to what a guy he was—the whole performance was kind of a blur (I found out 45 minutes before curtain that I was going on for Bob)—but every time I glanced to the wings, there was Bob smiling encouragement and support, every time I came off stage, he put his hand on my arm and calmly told me what to do next (costume, prop, entrance, scene, etc). I would never have gotten through it without him there. He was so gracious and supportive. What a great guy…
….great….now I am tearing up….thanks a lot Beth…. ;o)
John
Well, damn.
My memories: he was nutty/prescient enough to give me the role of Anton Schill in The Visit, my second part in Colorado Springs, on the basis of seeing me as Algernon in Earnest. For that experience I am extremely grateful. He was a really enjoyable director to work for. Unlike Beth he didn’t teach me how to speak properly (ha! :P) but he did teach me the trick of shaking out the tension in my hands before each performance, a trick I’ve used ever since.
I was also fortunate to act with him in one of the many Xmas Carols he did as Scrooge, and also in Shakespeare (although that was a long time ago).
Although I’d not done anything with him for a long while, whenever I saw him we always had a little chat and he wanted to know how I was doing theatre-wise. I got the impression that he was always a little disappointed I went for the filthy lucre in my career rather than the noble stage.
Damn.
Cheers, Julian
It was around 1985 or 84 when I got the chance to work with you in Civic Theatre’s production of Damn Yankees. You played the role of Mr. Applegate (the devil). A role that I wanted terribly. In the end I played the young Joe Hardy to your devil and loved every second I had on stage with you. The opportunity to watch you tranform into character and learn from it is etched forever in my memory. Back then I had two mentors in the theatre, Jason Robards and you. Thank you for the gifts you gave to me and your audience.
See ya in the green room Bob.
Steve Schopper
It is beautiful to see the love here for our dear Bob. I just adored him and LOVED working with him. I feel so fortunate to have worked with him. He was so magnetic, so talented, such a force to be reckoned with! I remember during one performance on tour with All’s Well (in summer in the tent) I saw a fly that had been trying to upstage us, fly into Bob’s mouth during one of his speeches! The fly was in there for half a line and then flew out and Bob did not miss a beat. He was such a pro.
Much love to you Bob. I shall miss you.
I had the pleasure to share the boards with Bob in several TheatreWorks productions, but the most memorable was Lear. Yes, Beth, the blend of humans and nature on that night was a truely miraculous event. I shall always honor the heigths to which Bob took me and all of us, on that run. He was a binding glue to the theatre community.
I’ve been away from the Springs for a long time, but I still feel Bob’s death tremendously. Bob was, for me, a teacher, a director, a fellow player, a mentor and a friend. Bob was one of the most demanding people I’ve ever known, but what he demanded was the best, for love of his craft, but more for love of the theatre and those communities the theatre brought together and tested. Bob:
I remember Bob sitting in the stairwell reading over his lines for Grapes of Wrath every night before curtain.
I remember Bob happily grumping about the stage direction: Exit, pursued by a bear.
I remember Bob dropping on his knees before Scrooge’s gravestone as if he were a young man. (The very thought of that now makes *my* knees hurt.)
I remember being fortunate enough to see Bob play King Lear. I’m glad he got to do that. I am so much more fortunate for having known him.
The oldest have borne most; we that are young
Shall never see so much, nor live so long.
I was fortunate to have known Robert for nine years. We met one day when he rescued me after I had skidded into a ditch off an icy road. At the time, as a recent immigrant, I was not quite used to driving the winter roads. Later, he began assisting me with my grammar and speech. He was a good teacher and I learned much from him. He often impressed on me the necessity of learning so many of the American colloquialisms. He had a lot of patience with me even when I massacred the English language. When we occasionally argued, I would tell him that he’s “pissing me up” instead of pissing me off, which gave us both many laughs. But Robert was always quite serious about the need for me to perfect my English and he was always patient with my stumbling efforts. He slowly became my mentor and my best friend and we saw each other most days and whenever possible. He was a most private person and when I met him he spent most of his time alone, but when I would spend time with him I would notice that he was always happy to have my company. He was a great cook and we enjoyed many wonderful meals at his home but also we found many good local restaurants to enjoy. He introduced me to plays and operas and I was always most impressed by being able to witness some of his own wonderful performances. Although, I enjoyed so many good times with Robert, I was also there for him when he became ill and was hospitalized, and later during rehabilitation at home I helped him with his errands and maintained his home. During the last six months of his life, I found myself unemployed and so was able to devote more attention to him, cleaning, shopping, and entertaining him as best I could, although being a witness to his suffering was painful for me. Sometimes, it was simply a matter of being with him while he watched his favorite channel, The Food Channel, which was ironic since he really no longer had an appetite. Finally, I was there the morning he died, and he passed peacefully in my arms, expressing his affection for me. It was a privilege for me to have known him so well. I’m grateful for all the pleasant hours we spent together, especially in his last months and he shall remain in my heart all the rest of my life.
Oh, Joel… what an incredible thing, to have been there at that moment - and what a gift your friendship was to him. Thank you, thank you thank you for that, and for sharing the story of it with us. My heartfelt prayers are with you - in empathy for your grief and in gratitude for your presence in Bob’s life.
Namaste.
I just heard from Joel about Bob’s death. I knew this day would arrive, but am still so deeply saddened. Joel, you were such a joy to Bob and I’m so grateful you were there with him. I got to know Bob when he became friends with my late partner, Randy Toddish, and really mentored Randy over the years as both a performer and sound guy. Since Bob had such limited patio space at his apartment, we turned our yard on Franklin St. (across the street from Mark & Lauren Arnest, oddly enough) to him to do as he pleased. I have great memories of Bob and Randy running lines while planting bulbs or trimming back the roses. Randy was so fortunate to have Bob as a guide, and I reaped the rewards of getting to be with him without having to worry about my diction! Gardens here in Tacoma, WA are bursting out these days–and there’s still a stone plaque that Bob put in our Colo Spgs garden that has moved to the Pacific Northwest: “Who plants a garden plants happiness.” Bob, you planted gardens of happiness in so many people’s lives–and for that you wil always be remembered with love. Tom Diehm
I was fotunate enough to work with Bob in six shows over the years but it was our off stage relationship that I really enjoyed.Bob used me as his go to guy whenever his teeth gave him a problem.I never charged him for my work,but he always found a way to return the favor.He gave me a BBQ grill that I still use and once he made me a chocolate torte that was amazing.Still,I will always remember the presence he had onstage.A true class act and a good friend.So long Bob.We’ll all miss you.
my tribute to bob will not be as eloquent as the ones from people in the theater. i think i hired him to work in my record shop before i sold it in the mid 1980s on the recommendation of my friend tom paradise, [anyone know where tom is nowdays?] i enjoyed being around bob and considered him more than a employee, he was our friend. bob you will be missed by all. ————-jerry richards–navajo dam, new mexico