an ode to John Voth – surprise!

Tonight I had our creative team over for dinner, and Ron Reed, the AD of Pacific Theatre. I served a five course Italian feast. (eggplant cannelloni a surprise hit, the panna cotta rubbery but edible) I wanted to introduce them to some of the foods I mention in Espresso. It was a wonderful evening. And one of my favourite things about this sort of gang is the generosity. We spoke of other friends we loved and admired and reminisced. In particular tonight we spoke of Evangela Kepinsky, JP Allen and John Voth. I have many fantastic stories about them all, being vibrant and remarkable people. Tonight I will share one. Because I didn’t share it over dinner.

John Voth – actor, musician and awesome human being

I am 95% of the time a pretty joyful person. I am lucky. However, we all have our dark nights of the soul. Yes? On the worst night of my life, about four years ago (If you are a reader of my blog you know that time in my life was a bit on the “Job” side of things) my computer bleeped. Why I heard it and why I went over to see who it was – is still to this day beyond me. A young actor I barely knew named John Voth decided to Facebook chat me. I think it was something like, “How’s it going, why are you up at 2am?” And having no wits left about me and being completely alone and a little bit afraid of what I was going to do with the evening, I said something like, “Well, as it happens, I am having the worst night of my life.” And he wrote simply, “I’ll be there in forty minutes.” Before I could protest or wave it off, he was off line and on the road. Sure enough, forty minutes later, clean cut smiling John Voth, in a button down shirt, buzzed himself in, with a single flower in his hand.

To me, he was some kind of miracle.

What I needed was a good walk around the city, which of course I was now free to do, accompanied by a man who is six foot two or there abouts. We walked along the sea, past huddled gulls and sleeping bag rubbies. We walked over unusually quiet bridges and past silent stretching skyscrapers half empty. Investment property. We walked that wonderful echoey mile down sidewalks that bounced back the sound of our heels. We talked about life and love and God and art and probably dead babies. Poor fellow.

And then I gave him a small glass of apple juice. And off he went.

How many times have I seen him since? A handful. But he leapt when I needed someone to leap for me. And his kindness kept a light bright in me. He was a glimmer of Amante, actually.

I can still see that solitary flower. I can still see his smile. I can still see the bottom of the empty glass of apple juice as I laughed to myself, “Well, not so alone, baby. Not so alone.”