Jack Trahey was one of my professors at Loyola, and was the director of the first show I did...a pair of one act plays by Moliere that we turned into musicals (I still remember some of the songs, how scary is that?). he was also my Dramatic Literature teacher, and I did not do well in his class. Part of it was the depression, and how hard it was just to get up and do anything that wasn't what I wanted to do...and I'll admit, I used that depression as a crutch, and as a scapegoat, and while I realize now that I let myself down, I think I knew then how much I was letting other people down. I just pretended it didn't matter.
Jack really went above and beyond to try to help me, and all I gave him was attitude and grief and a lackluster attempt to attend class. I wish I could go back and kick my younger self in the ass about a great many things, but this is up there. Had I done then what I should have been doing, I'd have my degree. I'd be, if not richer, or more successful, at least more fulfilled. I'd probably still be in Chicago. And I'd be a better person.
Jack died on January 16th. It's too late now for me to apologize. But it's not too late to do what I know that I should.