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Remembering Gregory Mitchell
By MEGAN WILLIAMS
How do we measure a loss—in memories unearthed? In acknowledgement of that person's relevance to one's own life? I came to Juilliard in the fall of 1980 … and I came because of Gregory Mitchell. It was summer 1979: I was just 17, dancing in a teen jazz company in Toronto. Gregory Mitchell (B.F.A. '74, dance) was taking a break from a Feld Ballet tour and was recruited to teach us a master class. He swaggered into our studio like a change in the weather, all virility and showmanship, and took us on a sweaty, three-hour journey of technique and improvisation that culminated in a passionate and complex dance. The music was the theme song from Rocky: "Gonna Fly Now." And we did. To Greg, dancing was an absolute necessity. To us, up until that moment, it had merely been a joyous pastime, a series of challenging exercises and adrenalin highs set to pop music and counted in eights. Our perception of what was possible was forever changed. We were smitten.
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| Gregory Mitchell in a photo he inscribed to Megan's high-school class in 1979. |
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Greg singled me out. He told me that Juilliard was the place for me. He spoke of Anna Sokolow, Hector Zaraspe, and the works of José Limón. Of Martha Hill and her mentorship. Names that meant nothing to me at the time—but would later prove to be some of my greatest influences.What followed was a trip to New York with two friends, and Greg as the ultimate tour guide. Brooklyn-born, Greg loved the city and loved sharing it ("this is the best water you will ever drink!").We sampled classes, wandered the streets in awe, re-enacted scenes from the movie Hair in Central Park. We saw Fosse's Dancin' on Broadway. He encouraged me to strengthen my ballet skills, and the following spring, he coached my audition piece, infusing it with weight and breath and images of flight. "If you believe in it," he told me, "so will they."Belief was paramount in Greg's world. After Juilliard, he choreographed and performed with his own dance ministry, as well as a liturgical group that traveled to Europe and Israel. Eliot Feld (whose company he danced with from 1978-1982) remembered him as true collaborator—"an apostle," and "unbelievably committed to the idea." Next was Broadway, where Greg was cast in countless original productions and revivals. "Theater Warrior" to his peers, he performed with unparalleled urgency and generosity. He cut a swarthy, masculine, and intense figure onstage, and his heart was always in full view. Chita Rivera, who worked with him in Merlin and Kiss of the Spider Woman, called him "one of the most powerful dancers on Broadway."Sadly, it was his heart that proved to be his nemesis. He collapsed onstage at the Kennedy Center on November 11, 2004, at the feet of Mikhail Baryshnikov. The play was Forbidden Christmas, or the Doctor and the Patient. Greg—playing an angel, wings and all—entered to save the Baryshnikov character from eminent drowning. Greg put Misha on his feet, and then fell backward. He never regained consciousness and died a week later, at the age of 52.I was among the hundreds at his funeral. At one point in the service, everyone in the church who had ever danced or performed with Greg was asked to stand. I'd never had that sweet privilege, save for the master class 25 years before. I wept with gratitude as I saw the dancers, actors, and singers, all with their own stories, rise in unison. A last ensemble dance for a man who would be sorely missed, whose commitment to the idea had changed all of our lives.Megan Williams earned a B.F.A. in dance in 1984. She was a member of the Mark Morris Dance Group from 1988-97 and is now on the faculty of the Conservatory of Dance at SUNY Purchase.
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