I was listening to the Sweet Appreciation CD coming into work this morning. I wish I could be in NYC so that I could go to tonight's Sweet Appreciation II. I'm sure it's going to be another unbelieveable night.

What a special talent Rusty was, and how much we all admired him at his alma mater. Brown was so lucky to have him as a student. I remember with great joy any number of parties and other informal events where Rusty offered us his unique and original music and humor. And only a year ago he surprised us all with his presence at the 2002 Brown commencement where he became the star of a cabaret marking the 100th anniversary of the Brown theatre group Sock & Buskin. Despite his illness he was as upbeat as ever and his talent seemed not to be diminished a bit.

On the one year anniversary of the greatest party I have ever known, I just wanted to send a message of love and remembrance. I look forward to seeing all of you on June 9th, to hearing Rusty's music, singing, talking to all of you, listening to the stories.
I miss you, Rusty.

I just read what everyone, including my brother Randy had posted on this tribute site for Rusty and my eyes filled with tears. But at the same time, a wide smile swept across my face. Confused, I considered this contradiction of emotions. I was so saddened to hear that Rusty would no longer be around to dazzle us with his brilliant comedy, music, and overall talent -- and yet the simple thought of him and the joy and warmth he brought into my life as a fellow performer was undeniable. And then I realized, that was and always will be Rusty's effect on me and the countless others who were fortunate to be blessed with the priveledge of getting to know him and watch him perform. He was able to truly touch us all and to miss him is to hurt, but to think of him is to smile. Rain and sunlight mix to form the rainbow that is Rusty Mcgee's legacy. Beautiful, colorful, larger than life and something I will never forget. My heart goes out to Rusty's family and loved ones.

May 2, 2003

Dear Folks and Friends,

A few days ago, I heard about Rusty's passing and I was so saddened. I felt like I must have been living under a rock not to have even heard about it after so much time. I knew he was sick but didn't realize just how so. We weren't close but crossed paths every so often. I was at Trinity Rep Conservatory when he was at Brown and my good friend Kate Lohmann spoke highly of him. Then, when we graduated and moved (back, in my case) to New York, the Westbank was our PROJECT CENTRAL. Even when we weren't doing a show, I'd love to go to the Free Show, eat upstairs (sat next to Albert Innaurato one time and my sister bought him dessert. I digress). Anyway, Rusty was always there smiling and 150% energy. Lewis, Rand, Tony Todd, Ken Cheeseman, Margo--there was always someone there you knew to see that made it homey, made you think, laugh and tap your feet. Rusty was like one of the hosts or camp counselors with an accent on camp. He did all of the above.
As life took me on a different path, I started teaching Drama in NYC. Through my collaboration with the Manhattan Theater Club, I met Joe White. He became my Teaching Artist and he brought Rusty to my classroom to prepare my students who were going to be attending a matinee of a musical version of Captains Courageous. Mind you, I teach in a rough school. Naturally, the kids adored him. Security kept calling my room because so many people were outside my classroom trying to be a part of what he was doing that they thought for sure that a fight broke out or we might have a fire hazard on our hands. I had to laugh. Nothing had changed. No time had passed. We were all loving him all over again.
I will always remember him fondly.

Sincerely,
Marji

Dear Alison and Nat,

I hope this letter finds you both doing well.

So much as been said about Rusty in the past few months that I’m sure has strengthened you both. No one who met him, knew him, worked with him, or saw him perform was unaffected by him, myself included. So, before too much time passed, I wanted to let you both know how I felt about him, too.

He had a constant playfulness; an engaging, rumpled mania about him that I loved being around. When I came to visit, usually to ask for help with a song, he would haphazardly push aside what he was in the middle of, and devote his full concentration to the favor I was asking, dismissing out of hand any offer of payment. Then, he would patiently listen as I tried to translate my layman’s requests into musical terms. It was like asking Einstein for help with my school science project; except I laughed more. A lot more.

As we "worked," we’d talk about what else we were doing. Rusty, of course, would have two or three or four other things going on. And he would dart from keyboard to keyboard: to the piano, for a live rendition of something new or classic; to the computer, to log on to play a recent Bush/Gore satire song he had done for a comedic website; to the synthesizer, for an impromptu medley from "A Flurry Tale." He would bounce between excited narration of his arrangement, and technical commentary on the amazing software he was using. Like one of those frenetic scientists from a 50’s Sci-Fi movie, he couldn’t wait to share his "discoveries," even if some of the details or nuances were over my head. And, of course, we thrusted and parried with stupid repartee and sarcastic "guy" humor.

It was always a wild mix of work, sharing, and teasing; peppered with otherwise inaccessible musical references that I could pretty much expect whenever we talked or met. Right up to my last visit with him at the apartment.

Alison, I know these past months have been an extraordinary time for you. And I can’t begin to imagine how challenging the journey has been. But your efforts to help Rusty share his life and music were so very valuable for all who were lucky enough to be a part of them; from the unforgettable night at the West Bank, to your coordination of his daunting social calendar those last weeks, to the beautiful memorial service that let so many of us pay one last tribute to him.

Of all of these, I’ll hold the Sweet Appreciation party as one of my fondest memories of him: At the piano: sharp, strong, joyous, and amazing to see and hear.

Nat, you’ve suffered a unique loss. But as a son myself, and now a father, I will tell you that you will be both pleasantly surprised and sometimes shocked at the ways a father almost mysteriously "shows up" in his son. It can be something subtle; like a mannerism or a habit, endearing or eccentric, that only those closest to you both would notice. Or, something grand and unmistakable; like talent or intuition, charm or integrity, that the whole world will recognize.

Your father had all of these. And they’ll be unending gifts that you will receive from him as you continue on through school, adulthood, and if you’re blessed…. fatherhood. Embrace them all. It’s the way Dads continue to teach us, and remind us how much they are a part of us always.

Besides my deepest sympathies and warmest wishes, I have no idea what I could possibly offer to either of you right now. You seem fortunate to have a bounty of truly spectacular friends and family to provide all the support you’ll need in the days ahead.

But if along the way, even if it’s months or years from now, you come across something that I might be able to help with, I will be there. Because Rusty was always there for me; no questions asked, no strings attached.

I will miss him. And I’ll never forget him. How could anybody?




Bill Lobley

Last week I drove from Chicago to Ann Arbor, MI on business. I had brought the "Sweet Appreciation" CD with me to listen to in the car, forgetting that Ann Arbor was Rusty's home town. How appropriate it was, then, that I had Rusty along with me for the drive, welcoming me into Ann Arbor with his own endearing voice and personality. Wherever he is now, I'm sure he feels all the love that he left in his wake.

What a magnificent website and tribute to such a lovely man. I was so privileged to work with him on "The Green Heart." What a thrill to sit next to him at the piano and hear him sing that beautiful and witty score. Our last visit is a memory I'll forever cherish.

Feeling so lucky to have seen film of "Brown-eyed Girl" at the last Moonwork show. And wishing loads of love on Alison and Nat - may each day get slightly easier, and Rusty's magical memory be part of your life forever.

My wife Mary and I stepped into the West Bank Cafe last night for the first time in many years. The first person we asked about was Rusty (the second was Lewis), and we were stunned when the waitress gave us the news. We knew him for a very short time - my acting career was, well, very short - and I was priviledged enough to do a play reading at Octoberfest with him back in 1992. I never felt like one of the inside folks at EST or the West Bank, but when I saw Rusty he made me feel for those few passing minutes like I was with my best friend. I read the wonderful memorials on this site and it occurs to me that this was Rusty's great gift - he made whoever was standing right in front of him feel like they were the only person in the room. He glowed. He also loved being a father. (Something I identify with.) Mary and I ran into him one day on Columbus Avenue. He was with Nat when Nat was just a baby. Standing over his son, Rusty glowed with pride. Indeed as I write this today - feeling still like the outsider - I have a very clear picture of him sitting at the piano (covered with his props) on the West Bank stage late on a Saturday night nearly bursting with glee as he plays Rasta Man and has us all smiling at this silly, hysterical, genius of a man. We will miss him, but we will never lose what he gave to us, what he clearly gave to us all.