Pendragon Theater, in Saranac Lake, NY, nestled in the Adirondacks, was my first paying job as an actor after theatre school, where I'd spend the next two summers and where I met Binnie. The first play of three that summer that I would rehearse and perform in was "Arsenic and Old Lace." I played Mortimer Brewster. Binnie played one of the Aunties and the other was played by another amazing soul named Fran who looked me in the eye at 6"+. We were quite a crew onstage. Offstage was even more fun. The whole cast was alive with character and characters. In the middle of all of it was Binnie. She made me feel like playing. She and I quickly discovered a shared passion for movement and began "jamming" together as a way to warm up or cool down before and after rehearsals. Sharing our weight, spinning, twisting, rolling and flying without leaving the ground. I'm sure it was strange to some to see but it was such a gift to be a part of. I had barely known her a week and there she was in the grass behind the theater, being lifted over my head and then dropping to the ground in a flash with my support. Trusting, giving, kind, playful, warm, relentlessly positive.
I had the pleasure of working with her in two other plays at Pendragon. One was "Angels In America," in which she played the Mother (Hannah Pitt) to my character (Joe Pitt). As difficult as the relationship is between the two characters, I felt like we had such a trust with each other that we were able to just tell the story or let it come through us. That is by far the most organic relationship I have ever had on a stage. It was almost effortless. I connected with her and still feel connected to her.
Binnie and her husband Bob came to visit me at a restaurant I was working at a year or so after my time at Pendragon. It was a sweet visit. That was the last time I saw her, almost 7 years ago. I had heard from friends that her health had been failing her and had posted a message or two in the last year but I never spoke to her. Yet, on the night she passed, I had the clearest and sharpest thoughts of her.
The next day a mutual friend posted her picture with a sweet remembrance. A flood of emotion hit me and I sat down and knew without a doubt what I had felt the night before. "She was announcing herself," my wife said to comfort me. A sweet thing to say and probably true in a sense, but I didn't need consoling. I was sitting outside of my daughter's room watching her and my son spin around and act goofy. That was all the comfort I needed right then.
Binnie lived well. She played hard. I didn't know a ton about her but I know she loved a lot in her life. Boy, could she move. What a light, what a light, what a light.
.JPG)
