THE INCREDIBLE LIFE OF MORGAN JENNESS

I attended the memorial for my old pal, Morgan Jenness, last night in NYC. To reduce Morgan to a byline would be impossible, but to give you some context—they were a writer, a dramaturg, a professor, a literary agent, an activist, and a soul sibling. We met over 30 years ago when I was a young actress in New York.

As I looked around Judson Memorial Church last night, seeing so many familiar faces from my theatre life decades ago, memories came flooding back. Like the time I went to my agent’s office for a voice-over audition, only to stumble upon Morgan at a desk—they were the literary agent there.

The evening was the cherry on top of a full day of celebrations in Morgan’s honor. A merry band of thespians had gathered in Tompkins Square Park—a fitting tribute for Morgan, who was called the dramaturg of Occupy Wall Street. They made their way to La MaMa, that extraordinary bastion of experimental theatre, then to The Public, the storied home of commercially adventurous works, and finally to Washington Square Park. I wish I could find recordings of these gatherings—perhaps on HowlRound.

By the time I arrived, too late to join the marvelous parade from place to place, a small band of musicians was playing, welcoming everyone into the Judson Memorial Church. The setup inside was magical—flags bearing the names of plays Morgan had worked on lined the walls, beautiful butterflies created for the occasion fluttered overhead, and a stunning portrait of Morgan graced the stage. But what struck me most was the serpentine configuration of the chairs—this would be no typical memorial where everyone faced forward. No, we would be turning this way and that to hear each speaker, a fitting tribute to Morgan’s ever-curious and expansive spirit. The organizers had even curated recordings of Morgan’s voice, which echoed through the space, filled with passion and their unmistakable joie de vivre.

And yet, amid all this love and remembrance, I felt strangely out of place. Not because of the years that had passed since I had seen so many of these faces, but because of something deeper.

One of the most moving moments of the evening was hearing Morgan’s niece recount how she had been born in Germany and sent to America for adoption—a breathtaking story, one that paralleled my own mother’s journey. Then, when a speaker announced they would recite the Mourner’s Kaddish, my heart swelled—only to shatter moments later when he altered the words, inserting the Palestine to suit his political agenda, turning this sacred blessing into a political statement. Morgan would have approved, no doubt. Truly. But I also know that Morgan believed all lives are sacred. What a missed opportunity to build a bridge instead of driving a flagpole deeper into the ground. I felt my heart was protected by the dog tag I wear around my neck everyday that says "Bring them Home."

Morgan was loud, fierce, brave, and brilliant. But more than anything, Morgan was inclusive and never shut anyone out, at least not me. It is my honor to celebrate the incredible life of Morgan Jenness, a human who wore so many hats and filled so many hearts with their singular, wise embracing soul.

"In bocca al lupo!"