Dana Butler

Hanging in my office.

When I lived in St. Louis, I worked for a while at Dance St. Louis.  DSL still brings world class dance companies to perform for local audiences who might not otherwise have a chance to see such profession and diverse styles of dance. I met some really good people there, Dana Butler and Sylvia Elliott in particular.  Both, sadly, are dearly departed.  I was surprised by my friendship with Dana.  He disliked most people, but he liked me.  He would hang out in my tiny office to bitch and complain about the people in his life.  I listened because it was entertaining.  Much more interesting than the work we were supposed to be doing.

We were supposed to be fundraising for the company.  That is hiring, training and firing folks who cold called dance patrons to beg for money.  Applying for non profit grants.  Typing, duplicating, folding and stuffing envelopes and stamping or "franking" as Sylvia called it, the envelopes.  Finally, carting off heavy bags full of said envelopes to be mailed. 

I'm not exactly sure of Dana's job description, but I know he was a God-send for me.  There was so much to be done and when I got behind Dana always offered to help me.  He stayed late and he wouldn't stop until the job was done.

Dana and I would spend as much time as we could in Sylvia's crowded office.  Sylvia described herself as "unafraid, unthreatened and unstoppable".  A former Ebony Fashion Fair model and flight attendant who had traveled the world she had stories to tell.  To Dana and me, she was irresistible.  I don't know what she was supposed to be doing either, but we knew she could spin a good yarn and that helped when the days got tedious.  She began every tale with...

"So, anyway..."

The days weren't always dull.  Things got exciting when the dance companies we presented were in town.  I still marvel today at the physical talent of those athletic dancers.  Not to mention the amount of food they could eat.  We held receptions for them after the shows so they could mingle with the donors.  They would swarm through the room like locusts and the food disappeared within minutes.  After all of that eating they were still impossibly thin.  They worked hard, practicing for hours day and night.  Oh, and the shows were jaw dropping.

In his healthier days.

One of the perks of the job was seeing all of the performances.  I got to see Alvin Ailey American Dance Theatre, American Ballet Theatre, American Ballroom Theatre (their repetitiveness put me to sleep after a while), Bolshoi Ballet, Garth Fagan Dance, Martha Graham Dance Co., Hubbard Street Dance Chicago, Joffrey Ballet, Bill T. Jones (I was intimidated by his intensity and sleekness when I met him at the reception), National Ballet of Senegal, New York City Ballet, The Nutcracker that every year showcased local kids, Parsons Dance Company, Pilobolus Dance Theater, and Tharp and Baryshnikov and many more. The highlight for me was seeing Mikhail Baryshnikov. OMG, even though he was in his later years, he was astounding.

At the performances we got to dress up and this is when Dana shined.  He had a splendid wardrobe.  His red leather suit was my favorite.  Not everyone can wear a red leather suit, but Dana rocked it with a Prince vibe.

Reheating Dana's home cooked meal.
Giving the illusion that I cooked it.

Once, I was trying to impress some Unworthy Guy with a home cooked meal.  I'm not a cook.  I don't like to cook.  I told Dana what I wanted to do and he cooked a fabulous meal and brought it over, showed me how to reheat it and how to make it look like I cooked it, and then he left.  What a guy!  The Unworthy Guy was impressed.  I never told him that I didn't cook the meal.  He was unworthy.

When my Uncle Wilbert died suddenly from a heart attack, I'd heard the news unceremoniously from a cousin on my answering machine.  I went to work, but I wasn't much good there.  Uncle Wilbert was a father figure to me and I was shattered by his passing.  Sylvia and Dana could see that I was not doing well and they offered to help me get home.  Sylvia drove me home in her car and Dana drove my car home for me.  Dana stayed and sat with me for another hour or so, as I sobbed, just to make sure I was OK, then he took a cab back to the office.  I so appreciate their loving care.

In Alabama checking on Sylvia.

When Sylvia decided to move from St. Louis to Alabama, Dana and I were distressed and devastated.  How could she leave us?  Sylvia had made up her mind.  I guess she figured her job as our mother was done.  We did not want her to go.  We plotted to find out just where she was going so we could make sure this new place met with our approval. 

Dana and I packed our things and hit the road for a car trip to Alabama.  Even though Sylvia flew, we got there one day after she arrived.  She couldn't believe it when we showed up at her door!

"What in the world?  What are you two doing here?"

"We came to check on you.  We want to make sure you're OK."

The ride was a beautiful bonding time for Dana and me, although bittersweet.  He had AIDS by then and we both knew his time was short. 

I worried that he wouldn't live to complete the trip.  He got weaker and weaker with each passing day.  We shared a joint to help increase his appetite.  Nothing was really helping at this point.  I worried momentarily if I would contract AIDs by smoking with him.  Society knew more about AIDS but there were vestiges of ignorance still in 1995.  I did most of the driving in his nice new car.  I love to drive and this was right up my alley.  Selfishly I campaigned for his car after he died by repeating how much I loved to drive.

I had never been to Alabama and the countryside was gorgeous.  I had read about the red clay in books and seeing it ribboned through the roadside soil in person was beyond compare.

We stayed with Sylvia a few days just to confirm she was in good hands.  Her roommate and dear friend Cornelius Carter, checked out.  He, too, was taken aback when we dropped in unannounced.  They had not unpacked and boxes were everywhere.  Cornelious a talented dancer, choreographer and former Harvard professor, now Director of Dance at University of Alabama, was more than up to the task of looking out for our Sylvia.  Satisfied, we set out on our way back home.  Dana got weaker with every mile so I drove the whole way back, hoping he would make it.

I loved visiting his home in St. Louis.  It was small like him, elegant and thoughtfully decorated.  Every nook and cranny was adorned with something to please the eye, including a baby grand piano. 

I got to know his family, his mother, Phyliss, and aunt Bernadine.  We exchanged Christmas cards until they got too old to do so.  His mom had already lost one son to AIDS and it was excruciating for her to watch her second and last son go the same way.  She was strong though.  She was stoic.  I learned much from her.  She taught me how to look death in the face without flinching.  To be there for a friend until the bitter end. 

The day arrived when the dreaded phone call came.  I was hanging out with another less than worthy guy when the phone rang.  It was Phyliss at the hospital.

"Dana probably won't make it through the end of the day."

For some reason I consulted Unworthy Guy #2 about whether to go to the hospital to see my friend.  UG#2 shrugged his shoulders and I got my coat. 

Phyliss was there along with another of Dana's good friends.  I wish I could remember her name, for we formed a deep bond that day.  Dana was so slight, lying there in the hospital bed, you could barely tell there was a person there.  His already tiny frame wasted away to nearly nothing.  The nurses seemed to avoid his room.  Dana was through talking.  But I talked to him as his mom suggested.  I reminisced about good times past and I let him know how much I loved and appreciated him.  By this time we could hear the gurgling sound of his death rattle.  Something else I'd read about but never experienced.  You don't want to experience this. 

Then the rattling began to fade.  I sat beside him and I cradled the top of his head with my cupped hand.  He took his last breath and I felt his head go from warm to cool. Was that his soul leaving his body?  I don't know.  I was glad to be there with his family.  He was a good friend to me and I miss him.