Monday, January 14, 2008


In 1994, around this time of year, I had just turned 15 years old and was about to take my first audition as a singer for the Greenhills School spring musical - The Music Man. My parents dropped me off at the school at around 6:00pm for the auditions, and I spent the evening in the school lunchroom and lecture hall staring at the white bricks while I anxiously waited for my turn to sing sixteen bars of “76 Trombones” and some excerpts of the top tenor lines in the barbershop quartet music from The Music Man. There were two people hearing and casting us that night. One was the school’s choir director, Wendy, and the other was a lively man with a slightly raspy voice, short-cropped, spiky gray hair with a thin pony tail in back, glasses, a handle-bar mustache, and an infectious laugh – our theater director, Jim Posante.

Little did I know it at the time, but that evening of my knees shaking in the Greenhills lunchroom marked the beginning of my journey as a singer and shaped the entire trajectory of my life ever since. Jim decided to cast me as Jacey Squires in the Music Man’s barbershop quartet that spring, and I found my calling. It was with Jim that I learned what it took to transform a gymnasium into a theater, the basics of how to be on stage, what a thrill it was to step into the shoes of another character for the first time, and the exciting rush of singing under stage lights and in front of an audience full of people. It was with Jim that I found that I had a voice, and that I could do something with that gift.

Jim was more than a teacher or a director to me, though. It was through him that the theater kids in whom he nurtured the drama bug found a community and a niche. He is actually responsible, by drafting all of us to take part in the school’s theatrical productions, for helping me find the group of friends from my youth in Ann Arbor who have seen me through my hardest times, and that I consider to be practically family today. He was also the first out gay man that I got to know on a personal level and was a huge support for me as I took my own first steps out of the closet 13 years ago. Even after graduating from Greenhills, Jim was someone I counted on for support - he supported me while I was in college struggling to come out to my parents, and he continued to support me and cheer me on as I made the scary transition from college voice student to professional singer. We could always talk about anything, and I knew that in him I would always have a willing and helpful ear to bounce things off of.

Saturday, as I was in the middle of doing some yoga, warming up physically for the day’s rehearsal, I received a call that Jim was in critical condition after suffering from a massive stroke in the morning. He passed away at around 8:30 Sunday morning.

I’ve discovered that one of the hardest things about this operatic life on the road is that so often I can’t be there for the milestones of my loved ones – both the happy ones and the sad. So, I resort to saying goodbye here. Thank you, Jim, for helping me find both myself and my passion. You were a great guide and teacher, and an even better friend. I can’t help but think of you constantly as I spend most of this week in the theater, where you taught me so much about both the stage and life. Words can't express just how much you will be missed nor how much you were loved and valued.


Mare said...

I have been commenting on
each and everyone that I
can find that have blogs out there..and have wrote
the following.
I making my way to comment on each and everyone who
has touched my uncles
life. I wanted to say Thank you, as I may not know
you personally I do know
that if you were apart of Jim's life you share a
piece of his life as well
as I do. Just remember all that he has taught to
you, and key things that
made a difference in your life and pay it forward.

Anonymous said...

So sorry to hear about your friend and mentor. It sometimes amazes me the way people pass in and out of our lives. It's so great that you, unlike a lot of other people, have taken time to recognize the contributions made by people like Jim. As a former teacher, I dare speak for Jim when I say you have and continue to make him proud.

Ann said...

Oh Nick, I'm so sorry, I had no idea. I agree with your comment about the hardest thing about our life is missing out on things. I lost one of my mentors who taught me so much recently this past August.

I'm so sorry for your loss. I think you do him proud though. You're a fabulous performer and person and because of the impact he had on your life, you are a tribute to him.