Virtual Remembrance Book
We have created this virtual Remembrance Book for those unable to attend the memorial event or anyone with a memory of Brad to share. These messages will be collected for presentation to Brad's family.
I have said this so many times this week, Brad’s energy and spirit here at The Rep and across the internet were just remarkable. Brad was helpful to —Edward Coffield
Brad was the kind of guy who could make your first encounter with him feel like a family reunion. A tremendous man. —Joshua Benton
I will miss his thundering laugh coming from the back of the theatre. —Margaret Augustin
Brad’s presence was an almost daily occurrence online for me for the past 7 years. His sense of humor (both dark and light), his love of life and people and the theater were shared so freely. He made you feel a part of a very special family. He was so special to everyone, those who met him and those who hadn’t gotten the chance yet. I was truly honored to meet up with Brad twice, once on my honeymoon with my husband (who has known Brad online for more years than I), and once when a large group of our online friends gathered in Chicago for an early Thanksgiving celebration. He was such a wonderful man. He will be greatly missed. —Jennifer Drimmie
I certainly didn’t know Brad well, and really only through working with him on the Off Ramp series at the Grandel theater, however, every time I was in his presence, I felt enveloped in his wit, warmth, knowledge and generous spirit. —Kelly Weber
Brad was not only a valued client but also a dear friend. Of all of the photo shoots I have done over the years, working with Brad was always a joy. He could sometimes be vague in what he wanted but specific enough to get the flow going…and then we were off and running. A truly creative mix. I will miss the banter and the side stories that always accompanied the new production. Brad was a wealth of knowledge…but when in doubt, he was not adverse to making something up. I admired that and looked forward to the surprises. We’ll miss you Brad. —Lon Brauer
Wit. Humor. Someone who made you feel like you were the only one in the room. A treasure. —Scott Tjaden
I had the PRIVILEGE of knowing Brad when he was skinny, geeky kid that would you make you jump back when he spoke with this deep, bullfrog voice that was more melancholy than any 8th grade kid should be. But when he laughed, you almost pee’d your pants because it was so contagious that you couldn’t help but laugh with him.
He was the original Geek Squad Captain, before anyone else in the thriving metropolis of Center, Mo., knew what a modem was! He was deep, sincere, a wonderful friend, and my heart breaks to know that he was so close, yet we had drifted so far apart in the past 25+ years. I feel cheated that I let us drift apart. To those that had the privilege of knowing this wonderful person in the past 25 years, I would love to meet you all and hear YOUR stories of MY Brad.
Godspeed my FRIEND, may PEACE BE WITH YOU NOW AND ALWAYS.
I truly wish I had stolen that Willie Nelson concert tape that you worked so hard to make for me….. instead of returning it to you, like you made me swear I would!
:(
Cathy(Brock)Schutte - old classmate and cohort…. —CATHY (BROCK) SCHUTTE
I didn’t know Brad very well, but really enjoyed his writing in the Rep Weekly Reader. It was informative, interesting and witty. He was always unfailingly cheerful and pleasant to deal with. We will miss him. —Gee Gee Johnson
I was honored to have Brad Graham as my friend for 16 years and housemate for 13. One of the bases of our friendship was our shared geekdom about pop culture, of which the party invitations were just the most public example. For example, I always felt that our relationship was like that of Mary and Rhoda since he was my sardonic, witty, and yes wacky, upstairs neighbor. Brad, however, insisted that HE was Mary, and since I owned the house and lived downstairs from him, I was Phyllis.
Brad usually won these arguments.
On Monday, that terrible day, I found the St. Louis Police officers who came to the house to be courteous, supportive, respectful, and because I tend to notice these things, culturally competent when it comes to gay and lesbian issues. When the officer who was getting information asked me the nature of the relationship between Brad and myself, I said we were very good friends and that he’d lived in this house for 13 years. When he inquired further about Brad’s relationships, had he ever been married, did he have a girlfriend, he also asked me, “Were you two romantically involved?” I smiled, both because I was glad he asked the question so matter-of-factly and because the notion of Brad and me being romantically involved was — for BOTH of us — SO wrong on SO many levels! Part of the magic of our friendship was that we almost never saw each other - 4146 Flora is a pretty big house - so that when we would run into each other in the kitchen, the living room, or on the deck, we always had lots to cool, pop-geek, musical theatre, Joss Whedon stuff to talk about.
By my count I cried at least five times Monday, three times Tuesday, and at least twice every day since. But this is all still quite surreal now. I didn’t see Brad every day because we had such different schedules — one of our running jokes was, when one of us was coming into the house while the other was leaving we’d say, “Morning, Ralph,” “Morning, Sam” (cf. the lesser-known Wile E. Coyote cartoons where his nemesis was not a fast, skinny bird but a hirsute, lumbering English sheepdog), and I don’t quite miss him yet.
Then I’ll remember.
Last Tuesday night a number of Brad’s friends were at the Loading Zone, a bar in the CWE for ShowTunes Tuesday. Brad was there every Tuesday because, well, of the show tunes. The VJ dedicated a number of clips to him. One of the last was a clip from a Kennedy Center Honors special a few years back when Carol Burnett was one of the honorees. Brad had burned it onto a DVD that our friend, Chuck Wiethop, brought to the bar. Scott Bakula and John Schneider musically escorted a bevy of beauties, including Christine Ebersol, Kim Cattrall, and Julie Andrews, down a grand staircase as they impersonated some of Carol’s famous characters. The last, though, entered from the side. It was Bernadette Peters dressed as the Charwoman. She turned her bucket upside down and began to sing:
I’m so glad we had this time together, (Mark Bernstein and I looked at each other. Silently, our eyes said, “Oh, no, not this.”)
Just to have a laugh or sing a song, (“Oh my God, it is this!”)
Seems we just get started and before you know it (“I forgot this was how this ended!”)
Comes the time we have to say, “So long.”
We hugged and burst into tears. Others came over and hugged us. Through my sobs, though, I still wondered if Brad had somehow planned this from The Other Side. To be safe, because here we were crying in a group hug, I said the one word that I knew would mollify Brad’s spirit at that moment:
“Tissue.”
That, of course, is a reference to the group hug in the very last episode of “The Mary Tyler Moore Show” as the WJM news team is breaking up. And of course, that made me think of what Mary said that precipitated the group hug:
“I just wanted you to know that sometimes I get concerned about being a career woman. I get to thinking my job is too important to me, and I tell myself that the people I work with are just the people I work with. And not my family. And last night, I thought, ‘what is a family, anyway?’ They’re just people who make you feel less alone…and really loved. And that’s what you’ve done for me. Thank you for being my family.”
Okay, Brad, you win. From one career girl to another, you’re Mary. Thank you for being my family.
And thank you to everyone at the Rep. You were his family. This was his dream job. You made his dreams come true.
Yours,
Ken Haller
PS: The 21st Annual Holiday Party will happen on Sunday, December 12, 2010, as planned, but the invitations will not be nearly as clever. That was all Brad. —Ken Haller
Ten years ago I worked alongside Brad in the marketing department at COCA. I laughed every day.
We laughed about words, about books, about little things. Regularly, Brad would ask if he could pick something up for me when he ran out to buy lunch. He had favorites back then—including the fast food joint Lion’s Choice. I remember asking him to get me a salad. And with a look that could kill, Brad responded, “and do you think a SALAD…a SALAD.. is the lion’s choice?” It’s those little things I remember. You just had to be careful about everything—because Brad took words seriously.
Brad was generous in so many ways—not the least of which was with his flattery. How could you not love a guy who called you “darlin’” or “gorgeous” on your worst days? I guess that, sometimes, he didn’t take his words so seriously.
Brad was a delight to know. I still can’t believe he is gone. I’ll never forget the laugh….some things last
a very long time. —Nancy Goldstein
Brad was in my circle of friends in high school. He had a WONDERFUL sense of humor. I was yearbook editor my Senior year & he was a junior. I can’t count the times I would ask of Brad (& Mark) how are the class pages coming? There’s a deadline you know. Any ideas? Pictures? ANYTHING? It was a comical year & yes, all pages were turned in & finished nicely. As if there had been nothing to it.
I went away to big ole Mizzou for college. For 2 1/2 months. I called my parents & said - you’re wasting your money. Or actually, I was wasting their money. The first night I was officially home a strange car comes down my driveway - it was Brad & Mark - so excited I was actually home (they hadn’t heard I was a dropout yet). They had come to kidnap me. For a showing of The Rocky Horror Picture Show at the Huck Finn Cinema in Hannibal. I laughed til I couldn’t breathe that night. Brad felt his was duty that I see Rocky Horror in the right atmosphere to get the full affect. Doing the Time Warp at a after prom party just wasn’t going to get it.
He always seemed an old soul to me. Wise. Genius smart. Still waters, yet something brewing underneath.
I am saddened that life separates us from our friends. Sometimes it separates us from ourselves. My sympathies to Mary Jo. And Brad, rest in peace, smile on us from above, & remember - it’s just a jump to left…..
Love & Friendship,
Kelly Wolfe-Peery
New London, MO —Kelly Wolfe - Peery
Since last week I’ve been trying to remember when I first met Brad. I can’t remember. I just remember how we clicked, and once we clicked it was just a huge mass of finally finding someone who thought like me. The memories aren’t very linear.
It was a few years over 25 years ago, and it’s been about 25 years since I’d spoken to him or seen him in person. Brad was a kindred spirit in so many ways. When I think of the odds of two people so alike (and SO fish-out-of-water) finding each other in rural Missouri in the early 1980s (pre-internet (well, maybe not for Brad), pre-900-social-chat-lines, pre-texting), I have to tip my hat to the infinite number of monkeys responsible for scripting it actually happening.
In so many ways, Brad was what I wished I could be. I thought I was pretty intelligent until I met Brad. I thought I knew myself until I met Brad. I thought I was the funniest person I knew until I met Brad.
I went to my first (and only, sadly) Doctor Who convention (it might even have been a Doctor Who/Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy convention) with Brad in St. Louis. I remember realizing I wanted to live in a larger city when I got through with high school, because I just didn’t “fit” back home. It was appropriate Brad was there for that realization, especially considering how much he seemed to love St. Louis as an adult.
We spent so many evenings in his room being the biggest geeks on the planet (or so it seemed—it was geek heaven to this geek, anyway) working with what would now be thought of as stone-age computers, using stereo equipment to mix fun radio show intro tapes, analyzing movies and television shows and music videos. We even wrote a movie together—albeit a short movie (but complete with several songs and a robot that was mostly a mop bucket), and a never-filmed one, as well.
I can’t hear “Wake me up, before you go-go…” without remembering watching that video for the first time at Brad’s house. I’ve never seen Xanadu all the way through, because when I saw it on VHS at Brad’s house, he had already seen the movie and didn’t care for it—well, he only cared for certain parts, which he fast-forwarded to. “Isn’t it cool how they come out of the painting?” Brad loved the creative. Brad loved to share the creative.
I feel fortunate I got to read Mr. Haller’s tribute. For over twenty-five years, I’ve repeatedly wondered what Brad would think about different shows, books, movies, songs, gadgets, fads… especially all things science fiction. It is nice (and oddly heartbreaking) to know Brad had an appreciation for Joss Whedon. I had to stop reading for a bit when I read that. I’m devastated I’ll never be able to discuss the Whedonverse with him.
From what I’ve read on the internet over the past week, it sounds like Brad continued to be the funny and intelligent person I knew in high school. I will always cherish in my heart the time we were able to share as friends. I’m sorry our time together as friends didn’t last longer. Ad Astra, UNO. —Mark Riggs
I don’t know exactly when Brad and I started to be friends in High School, nor do I remember how it came to be that somewhere around 15 years ago, we lost touch. To be sure, Brad was on my mind from time to time. I followed his blogs at the BradLands, but I guess I missed the switch to Twitter. Every spring I’d read about the planned trips to SxSW in Austin and think, “that’s only 4 hours south of here, maybe this year, I’ll Break Bread With Brad”. And then I’d remind myself that I’m an engineer for a defense contractor, not a creative, new media geek, and talk myself out of it.
Brad would have been the first to try to talk me into it. I owe many of the more memorable moments in my life to being friends with Brad. Looking over the hole he’s left in the world (based on the touching tributes and mourning of thousands), I wonder how you lose touch with someone that remarkable.
I think I was one of the first to hear the “having sushi with Majel Barrett-Roddenberry” story (I know I heard it shortly after it happened). Somewhere, I still have a Brady/Brad-themed Christmas card. Heck, I even have the BradLands “Lesser Kudu” mug (which is one of the quintessential examples of Brad’s understated wit - http://www.bradlands.com/dailybrad/2008/05/). But as I’ve said in other places, the best gift I ever got from Brad was his example. More than almost anyone I’ve ever known, Brad was himself, uncompromisingly. He never let what others would think or say determine who he was going to be. I mean, if you’re going to drive a Renault in Ralls County and name it after a Fraggle (Wembley), you have to be pretty comfortable in your own skin.
Though I didn’t realize it, I’ve missed Brad every minute since the last time we conversed. Though I’m glad I was able to keep up with him via his blogs, to be forever denied an opportunity for another silly, witty, insightful conversation with Brad is a vast ache.
In that stack of dozens of letters from Brad, all of them are signed either “Ad Astra, Brad” or “Ad Astra, Uno”. To the stars, indeed, my friend.
P.S. - I went searching for the sushi story on the The Bradlands and found this page: http://www.bradlands.com/dailybrad/2001/06/ The sushi story is in the Jun 15, 2001 entry, but the entire page is an excellent sample of Brad’s wit and style. —Chris Talbott
Crushed to hear about Brad. I had the pleasure of working with him all too briefly back in the mid-90s at the WKTimes. That boy had wit like a razor, a tongue like a whip and the personality of a shook-up bottle of Orange Nehi. —Russ Carr
Brad was a high school freshman when I started my first year of teaching in January of 1984. He wasn’t in any of my classes that year, but somehow I met him anyway. It was impossible to be on the same campus with Brad and not know him! He was in my chorus classes during his sophomore, junior, and senior years. Brilliant, witty, intense, caring, ethical, trustworthy, hardworking…...and that was as a high school student! I often joked with Brad that he didn’t fit anyplace, but, at the same time, he fit everyplace. He was involved in every club and school activity, and I believe he was president of every club at one time or another. He wasn’t an athlete, but he photographed games and even kept stats for some of the teams. He had keys to places in the school that I, as a teacher, couldn’t even access! Brad was the kind of student who befriended everyone, kid or adult, and who was befriended by them in return. I never heard a negative comment about Brad. He would stay at school for hours to help accomplish any feat. I have so many fond memories of Brad and his friends as we worked on concerts, song and dance revues, sets, etc. I especially remember that Brad always kidded me that my routines weren’t complete without at least one set of jazz squares. I also remember the concert where he fell over a folding chair during a dance break. I know I’m rambling, but it’s impossible to describe Brad Graham and his influence in less than several thousand words. He was one of the great highlights of my teaching career, a wonderful person, and a dear friend. I regret that we hadn’t stayed in contact as often during the last few years. Brad, it was my pleasure to have been a part of your life and to call you friend. —Jeff Hickerson
Brad was such a wonderful guy and always helping guide us at the Regional Arts Commission about how to use social media. I was impressed not only by his knowledge but also by his willingness to share it with other artistic groups. Loved seeing him and laughinig with him at the Rep productions. Our deepest sympathies for his family and friends and everyone at the Rep. —Diane Kline
Funny, friendly, and altogether charming, Brad was the perfect media guy. We will miss him. —Bob and Kay Boyd
Brad’s sudden passing has left a huge hole in my life. He was so much more than a co-worker or boss—he was my friend. I respected him so much. He was the type of person that made you want to be better, every day. I have never known someone as dedicated and hard-working as Brad. Even though I miss him terribly, I keep reminding myself how lucky I am. I got to work along side him for almost six years. What he taught me during that time goes much deeper than any job description. And I am very grateful for all the good times we shared in our little world downstairs in the Rep offices. I’m not sure any office has ever heard as much laughter as ours! It could be the worst day, and Brad would turn it right around with one of his famous witty remarks. And you had to laugh. It was impossible not to, because his laugh was so contagious. He had such a wonderful energy and presence, which makes his absence all the harder to bear. But, I will try my best to make him proud. And, to steal a line from “Spring Awakening”,—you will always walk with my heart, Brad. —Katie Puglisi, Marketing Assistant for The Rep
Brad was a fantastic, funny, kind-hearted, amazingly generous human being. I hope that everyone who was lucky enough to work with him on a day-to-day basis knows how much he was beloved across the Internet. We’ll miss him every day. —Steve Cook
My dear friend for nearly 10 years, 10 Marches in Austin at SXSWi, countless laughs, stories and tears. I wish it weren’t true. —Kevin Smokler
This is… Mrs. Norman Maine.
Brad Graham lived on the third floor of my house at 4146 Flora Place for over 13 years, and because people, myself included, generally like to put people and relationships into categories, they often made the assumption that we were a couple.
We were not partners, we were not lovers, we were not boyfriends. We were girlfriends. We talked about movies, we talked about music, we talked about boys, we talked about theatre, we talked about TV… we talked about boys. We didn’t talk about how lovely our hair looked in the moonlight or what piercing eyes we had. That job was reserved for other men, and of course we talked about them
Not that I wouldn’t have been anything but proud to have had Brad for a partner if that’s what fate had had in store for us. As everyone here knows, Brad was sentimental without being cloying, generous without implying obligation, witty without being cynical, and intelligent without being affected. But it’s like in episode 167 of The Mary Tyler Moore Show, the second to last one, titled “Lou Dates Mary.” Georgette points out to Mary that every quality she seeks in a man can be found in Lou Grant. They go out on a date, they go back to Mary’s apartment, they start to kiss… and they both start laughing.
That would’ve been Brad and me.
That’s just not who we were to each other. Who we were, well, we were two guys with wildly divergent schedules who lived in the same house and would run into each other occasionally in the kitchen, on the porch, or coming or going from the house. One of our motifs was, when one of us was coming into the house while the other was leaving we’d say, “Morning, Ralph,” “Morning, Sam” a reference to the timeclock-punching sheepdogs who always outwitted Wile E. Coyote when he wasn’t chasing that annoying hyper-caffeinated bird.
Brad moved in in 1996 when I was getting ready to change jobs and I had planned to travel for about a year. I wanted someone to live at the house while I was traveling, and Brad was looking for a place to live. The traveling didn’t happen, but Brad did.
And as Stephen Sondheim wrote, “one day chums having a laugh a minute/One day comes and they’re a part of your life.”
My friendship with Brad, our housemateness, is probably the most in-the-moment relationship I’ll ever have. We didn’t so much do stuff together so much as we relied on fate to allow our paths to cross, usually when he was out on the deck smoking a cigarette, and I come down to the kitchen for a snack. I’d drift out back and we’d sit out on the deck for an hour or so, usually around midnight and talk.
Over time what became obvious in these conversations, I think to both of us, is how much we both love our work, love the communities we’re part of, love the friends we’ve surrounded ourselves, and this was particularly evident when we talked about TV shows. God knows we both love theatre and movies, but on TV you get to see people over the long haul, and who are these groups of people who hang out at a bar in Boston, a shared retirement house in Miami, a high school in Sunnydale, CA, the bridge of a 24th century starship, a TV newsroom in Minneapolis, or an apartment in downtown New York with a picture window that gives you a much too clear view of “ugly naked guy,” but coworkers and friends who care deeply about each other, work for a common purpose, and will be part of each other’s lives forever.
Of course, our camaraderie was most obvious at the holidays. Brad loved Christmas. He had been hosting a holiday party of his own when he moved in, and we happily merged our parties right from the start. Of course, Brad always came up with some of the most distinctive, creative invitations I’ve ever seen. Some of my favorites were “Bea Mary!” with pictures of Bea Arthur and Mary Tyler Moore; “BradKen,” with two mirrored “MadMen” silhouettes, only one of which (Brad’s) had a cigarette, and this year’s “Share your Holiday Glee!” with him and me in tuxes and displaying thumb-forefinger “L”s for “HoLiday” and “GLee.” The fact that this party helped kids get presents who might otherwise go without was one of the aspects of this party that he was most passionate about. Over the years, we both brought decorations and ornaments to the shindig, and we both shared in the cooking. And case you have any doubt, the tradition will continue as always on the second Sunday in December. The next one will be Sunday, December 12, 2010, so mark your calendars now, but the invitations will not be nearly as clever. That was all Brad.
Brad and I would also talk about our moms. Mine lives in New Jersey now, and Brad’s lives in New London, just south of Hannibal. And one thing, for those of you here who are moms, pray that you have at least one gay son. We’re the best. We visit and actually spend time with you. We take you out shopping, we re-arrange your furniture, we help you pick out drapes. Of course, there are some straight sons who do that, but we wonder about them.
We gay sons also like the same movies as our moms. Whenever I go back east to visit my mom, I always bring DVDs of classic movies, usually including at least one musical from the Freed unit at MGM. This Christmas I brought Meet Me in St. Louis. It’s one of my favorites and as well as hers, and of course, it’s about a family that has the opportunity to move from St. Louis to New York, and they decide not to go because everything they could possibly want is “Right here where we live - right here in St. Louis.”
Interestingly, when I watched this movie with mom, before all this happened, I thought of Brad. Years ago, in one of our conversations out on the deck, I asked him why he stayed in St. Louis. “Brad,” I said, “you’re a brilliant writer. Christopher Durang, Joe Keenan, Joss Whedon, you’re as good as any of them. Why don’t you move to New York or LA?” The answer was simple. “I love living in St. Louis. I can’t imagine living anywhere else.”
That’s not to say that life with Brad was always easy. Brad was, as we all know, a brilliant satirist, blogger, and critic, but I always thought his favorite literary genre was magical realism. What else would explain his unquestioning acceptance of the garbage making its way to the dumpster all by itself? Magic! The lights he left on in the living room turning off all by themselves in the middle of the night? Magic! His clothes making their way from the washer to the dryer, and when he had not taken them out of the dryer after three or four days, ending up folded on the top of the dryer without any effort on his part? Magic! The dishwasher, including up to 8, count ‘em, 8 frying pans, being loaded and emptied without apparent human intervention week after week, year after year? I ask you? Magic! Thank you!
The thing I realized about Brad was that he was not all here. Oh, he was somewhere, in his head, in cyberspace, in the – what’s it called? – blogosphere, but he just wasn’t always all here, and he could be oblivious to his surroundings. This is what would happen at our house if I ran into him while I was in the hall and he was coming down the stairs. “Oh, geez, you startled me!” Or if he came into the house with groceries and walked into the kitchen while I was sitting having coffee. “Oh, geez, I didn’t expect you.” He seemed to keep forgetting that he had a housemate – for 13 years. Eventually, I figured out that if I coughed when he was coming down the stairs or turned on the radio when he was approaching the kitchen, it’d be okay. But I’ve kind of wondered if he thought I was a Linda Werthheimer stalker with tuberculosis.
As you can imagine, it’s been strange to be in the house by myself, and I’d wondered if I might get some sort of a sign from him. I figured if Brad was in a good place and was happy with how I was handling things, I might hear strains of Shirley MacLaine singing “I’m Still Here.” If not, well, “Grease 2.”
On Thursday, January 7, three days after it happened, we did the first performance of “Love! Valour! Compassion!” at Citilities. I went out with the cast to Bugaloo’s in Maplewood and had a couple of beers and finally got home at 2 AM. I sat quietly in the kitchen for a moment, thinking, “God, I gotta be at work at 8. What was I thinking?” As I sat there in the quiet, getting ready to go upstairs I heard a music box playing “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.” It was coming from the dining room. After 8 bars it stopped. I held my breath for a moment, then took a very deep breath. I got up and went into the dining room. I turned on the light. Christmas was still up: I hadn’t had the time to take down the tree and pack up the decorations. I looked around and found the music box. It’s Brad’s. I turned it on, but it had wound down so I wound it back up and played it again.
I thought about “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas,” “Meet Me in St. Louis,” how much Brad loved living in St. Louis and our house, how much he loved Christmas, how much… he loved. And I knew he was telling me everything was going to be all right.
I just want to say one more thing. He loved this place. He loved working at the Rep. He loved the people he worked with. Brad was doing exactly what he wanted to do with exactly the people he wanted to be with. This was his home, as much as our house was his home, as much as his mom’s house was his home, as much as the Zone on Tuesday nights was his home. And that’s why, even though I am terribly sad about that NBC executive in the sky canceling Brad way too early, my sadness does not some from regret. Brad was living the life he wanted to live, those he loved knew he loved them, and he knew he was loved.
In those late night discussions on the porch, there was one thing we never could agree on: I always felt that our relationship was like that of Mary and Rhoda, and I was Mary since he was my sardonic, witty, and yes wacky, upstairs neighbor. Brad, however, insisted that HE was Mary, and since I owned the house and lived downstairs from him, I was Phyllis.
But from now on when I think of Brad, I’ll always think of what Mary said in episode 168, “The Last Show:”
“I just wanted you to know that sometimes I get concerned about being a career woman. I get to thinking my job is too important to me, and I tell myself that the people I work with are just the people I work with. And not my family. And last night, I thought, ‘what is a family, anyway?’ They’re just people who make you feel less alone…and really loved. And that’s what you’ve done for me. Thank you for being my family.”
Okay, Brad, you win. From one career girl to another, you’re Mary. Thank you for being my family. —Ken Haller
His wit, his knowledge, his charm, his ability to relate to everyone- truly a one of a kind and we’ll miss him dearly. Gail and Steve Allen —Gail and Steve Allen
I just learned of Brad’s death…and my heart is in my throat. My deepest sympathy goes out to Brad’s mother and to all of our mutual friends and colleagues at The Rep.
Brad was so caring, funny, smart. Just a gem. Brad was so full of life that I can’t believe I’m writing of him in the past tense.
Again my heart goes out to all of Brad’s family and friends. With much love. —Bernadette Quigley
