For the last few days of Jerry Hadley’s life, as I went about my business, a thought regularly crossed my mind: “Jerry Hadley is hundreds of miles away, on life support. His friends and family are in deep pain. He was in a pain so deep that it drove him to despair—and my life goes on.”
It doesn’t seem right.
I met Jerry Hadley in the early ‘90s, when I was an apprentice at Chicago Lyric Opera. If I had been any greener, I would have disappeared when crossing lawns. We apprentices had the opportunity to rub elbows with many of the big stars; it was a great education on how (and how not) to behave in a professional situation, among other things.
Jerry was singing Nemorino in L’elisir d’amore, and he was a shining example of the How Tos. He was unfailingly cheerful, friendly, and approachable to everyone, from stagehands and chorus members to apprentices, and right on up the food chain. I sat in the wings through as much of every performance as was allowable, and marveled at his easy stage presence, his consistency as a performer, his beautiful singing.
Jerry also gave master classes and private coachings to the apprentices, in which he was never condescending, cutting, or rude. Quite the contrary. If Jerry Hadley had a message for young singers, it was: “Own your voice. Own your talent. Don’t let anyone tell you that you can’t.”
In my own private sessions with Jerry, he was encouraging, supportive, and passionate about passing this message on. He told me that he had often had a hard time in the beginning of his career, and had often been told he didn’t have what it takes to make it. It was very important to him that the dreams of others not be tarnished or stolen the way some people had tried to do to his own dream.
The world may know the legacy of Jerry’s artistry, but those who worked with him—even briefly, as I did—knew this great capacity for kindness and generosity well. It makes the circumstances surrounding his exit from the stage of life even more tragic and difficult to comprehend.
As tenuous as my connection with this great artist is, I am left feeling personally bruised and bereft by the terrible path down which Jerry Hadley’s pain has led him. I have even felt guilty for the happiness of my own life when he and others like him have been hurting so deeply. The same thing happened when, in 1998, my friend and colleague Ed Russell took his own life during rehearsals at Cleveland Opera. Another kind and generous man, another wonderfully talented artist, Ed seemed to have so much success and love in his life—and yet he was deeply depressed, and hiding it. How many others of our friends and colleagues are suffering in this way? Can we do anything about it?
The truth is, no one of us can live for any other. We cannot fix things. We cannot make what’s wrong right. We are not responsible for the choices of others. And yet, if we can gain anything positive from these tragedies, I hope it is an increased capacity for kindness and generosity in each of us. A tiny bit more selflessness, a tiny bit more caring, a tiny bit more willingness to reach out a hand to another human being and simply say, “You’re not in this alone. I care.” Tiny kindnesses are remembered and valued, often more than the giver ever comes to know—and they are so easy to give.
This business is notorious for its hard knocks. It is a onstant drain on our resources, a constant struggle to get to the top and stay there. It is a neverending battle against criticism, nastiness, and sheer difficulty, with many rules, spoken and unspoken, about what you can say and what you can show the world without fear of being torn to pieces.
Yet we are not helpless in the face of this jagged path we must climb. We can choose to follow the examples of great artists such as Jerry Hadley, Mignon Dunn, the late William Warfield, and many others, all of whom are well known for their kindness and generosity to colleagues and especially to young singers. What greater tribute could we offer to the memories of those who have given us so much, both on and off the stage, than to make an effort to follow their example?
We can, and we must, extend kindness to each other. This is how we truly pay our respects. We are artists, blessed to bring to life the greatest music and poetry the world has ever known. Let us refuse to become a party to the cruelty into which our business sometimes sinks, and remember that we are charged with bringing beauty into the world. Let us honor our art and our colleagues by reaching into our own hearts and souls to offer that beauty, with a generous serving of kindness.
