I remember when I arrived at Coe. I was all about music. I wanted to be a music teacher. I wanted to perform on Broadway. I wanted to sing my way through life. Until I took theory. And then I realized that theory is much like math. And I'm not good at them. And, to quote a little Lord of the Rings, "me hatesssss it."
I also realized that there's Coe College and then there's the Coe College Conservatory of Music. It's a secret little part of the college and, since I don't like secrets, it cemented for me that I wasn't going to make music my life. Except for now. Which I do. Which he knew.
I auditioned late for music scholarship and, because of that, didn't get any money for voice my first year. But I met a very quirky man in the hallway that day. "My GAWD," he gasped at me. "That was amazing. Where did you learn to sing like that?" And he wandered off. "Lovely," I thought. "There are weirdos at this school." It wasn't that he WAS weird....he was just so dramatic and so big and so Hoff!
Imagine my surprise to find out that that "weirdo" was actually a very talented, very tempermental, amazing director at the college named Richard Hoffman. And for the next four years and beyond, my life would intertwine with his.
I had to drop out of Collage, Coe's now extinct show choir/small group performance when I was a sophomore because of knee surgery. (And yes, it was like Glee, complete with all the talent, all the divas, all the drama, and all the fun.) I hadn't auditioned my freshman year because I was too terrified. I screwed up my courage my junior year and auditioned again. And thus began a two year journey of being screamed at, being terrified, being challenged, being beyond exhausted, having my feet ache, and feeling as though every bone in my body was smashed. And thus began my journey of being encouraged, still being challenged, learning to tap dance because I was thrown in the front row, becoming a pro at winging it (remember Matt Clark?), belonging to part of an amazing group of people, seeing the south in style, and being nuked when the lights first came on at Disney.
But I digress. That's another story entirely.
Richard Hoffman lived and breathed Collage. And he expected his performers to do the same. And sometimes we didn't. And when we didn't,ooooooo, child. Watch out! But for as many times as I thought Hoff was a bully, there were as many times when I was proven wrong.
Richard Hoffman died yesterday.
The man was so complicated. One minute I hated him, the next I adored him.
I remember when he took my friend Jen and I aside prior to a performance and handed us each 2 bandaids. "Go put them on the girls," he said. "I know sex sells but this is a g rated show." And we went and put bandaids on our nipples. What kind of person would have someone do that? Hoff. And why would we do that? Because it was Hoff. And it was a g rated show.
I can't forget Hoffography which consisted of weird jazz hands and "doing your own thing." I can't forget when he would greet us. "Hellllloooooo Chickens!" I still use this.
I can't forget when he would yell out "FREEDANCE". Yes, Hoff will be missed. That strange little man who I met so many years ago - my own little garden gnome. For every time I wanted to slap him, there were double the times I wanted to hug him.
He showed how hard work and passion can overcome anything and how a family isn't just your blood relatives - it's truly about those you love and support you - who grow with you through every blister, song, and bump in the road.
I hope everyone up above is ready for Hoff. Let the freedance begin.
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