By Carlie Nicastro

The Miller's Tale

Last time we spoke, Jason Miller and I sat hunched, thick as thieves, over the table in a booth at Hackett's. I was slightly feverish, and so was Jason. The soft flush prickling at my temples was a slow flu simmering. Jason's glow, however, went much deeper. And though it was Jason, and not me, who wore the look of wear and tear - his usual, endearing mien -- he was truly in his finest form. Jason bulldozed any inklings of my illness with an unraveling yarn of tales unfolded in his low, raspy, mesmerizing tone. He had a positively ethereal talent of vanishing everything but his narrative from your attention.

We spoke about life after death, and his fingers were sprawled out on the table before us, his eyes intense, and his mind alive with vitality. His own flush was continuing on supercharge, spilling over from our conversation about Scranton Public Theatre's recent revival of "That Championship Season" and the palpable heartbeat -- the audible breath -- of live theatre.

Our interview was long since over, but I couldn't bring myself to get up from the table. The very closeness of his pure genius, his enthusiasm, his quirky animation, and his earnest passion, was compelling. Jason had a tale for everyone, and this day, he retold me one of my favorites. When you passed on, he said, the dog who loved you best would be waiting to help you safely cross the River Styx.

But then he continued.

We had veered onto the topic of life after death and Jason told me he had once had a near-death experience. He was very young, and living in an apartment in New York with his new wife. He felt as if he could see himself -- as if he could fly. He was sure he was dead, until he woke up sweating from his sleep.

"It was wild," he said with a gravely laugh, adding that he was sure that there was something more for us ahead. And we joked that, surely, it was pleasant -- since no one we knew had come back.

Jason often sent me into complete ecstasy when he commented on my writing -- it's not often that a writer is blessed by the compliments of a genius with a Pulitzer (He especially liked a bawdy line in our Best Of issue about taking your baby-sitter for a lesson in spanking. "That's good stuff!" he said -- and though it would never win an award -- he meant it). But Jason had a knack for doing the same for everyone he spoke to, about anything at all. He was something of a spirit, sliding silently through the streets of the downtown which he loved so much. He'd appear in the most common places, never ceasing to startle locals with his presence -- as if he wasn't a regular everywhere he went. He adored Scranton, and believed it could be great. He never believed it was anything but great. A huge part of that was his presence.

Jason was not afraid to move on. He prided himself in always moving forward. It is us, his fans, who feared being left behind. Our offices will never be the same knowing that he will not come shuffling in, clad in a basketball tank, lotto tickets in hand, innuendo and ideas on his lips. Our streets, theatres, and pubs will seem a shade dimmer without Jason, but the hearts of those he touched will always be bright with the words, the inspiration, the lessons, the encouragement, and the memories he left us.

Go Irish!

As Shakespeare said, 'All the world is a stage,' and Jason played it to the fullest. Jason was a passionate man, a lover, a Jesuit without the collar. He had a remarkable sense of humor, and he could always get me laughing. He wore his feelings on his sleeve, and if you wanted to make judgments, that was your choice. If you recognized him for the brilliant man he was, that was your choice too. It was a great opportunity to know him; and I truly believe I'm a better person for it.

I have millions of memories - like the time we first decided to do the tent. I took him up to Montage Mountain before anything was there. The ski area just opened and I took him to the ledge that overlooked the valley and we talked about carving out an amphitheater. It was just the two of us hypothesizing something that became reality. We did so many things together that nobody would have done. He fed me in terms of overcoming our fears together. If we fell flat on our face, we did it together. He was remarkable; and I knew him well enough that we could threaten to kill each other and still know that we were doing it for the good of the whole. He and I were brothers. We were able to speak frankly to one another, and I cherish that. Those who knew Jason well enough, know that there's no mourning here. Jason was always, 'Let's go forward, and go Irish.'

The last time I talked to him was on Friday. We had so many great plans on the drawing board, and we are going to go through with those plans because that's what Jason would have wanted. He didn't want to fiddle around. He had dreams for NEPA, and we are going to make sure those dreams are fulfilled. We will measure ourselves by the standards he wanted to set, and we can only get better for that. He cared so much about this area. It was his love affair - and he wanted it to recognize itself for how good it truly is. He spent his time upping its self esteem.

We've always said our modis operendi is to serve the playwright. And when you have a brilliant script, like "That Championship Season," it's easier to mess up because there's lots of depth and sometimes you have to work that much harder to do the material the justice is deserves. That play is, in my opinion, one of the greatest in the history of the American theatre, and when we did it, I asked him, 'Did we serve the playwright?' and he said yes. You don't run into characters like him many times in your lifetime, and those who have memories of him will hold them in a very high place in the hearts.

- Bob Shlesinger, Executive Director Scranton Public Theatre

I have so many wonderful memories of Jason, but my fondest is of when we were working together on "Stories From the Mines" - of how encouraging and professional he was, and how much he taught me about the movie making process. He was always so amazingly positive. Even when things were getting crazy, he kept upbeat and kept us sane by telling us how great we were! He was a great coach to me, and I'll always remember him for that. I'm saddened by the loss of such a dear and talented friend. Jason inspired me to pursue my dreams as a filmmaker, and quickly became my mentor while producing "Stories From the Mines," which he narrated and acted in. His positive outlook and genius for the English word gave me the confidence to pursue my own passion. I will truly miss him.

- Thomas M. Curra, President/Executive Producer, United Studios of America & Co-director Pennsylvania International Film Festival.

My husband Jim and I were University of Scranton Players back in 50's and 60's, and that is when we first came to know Jason. He was in plays with us, and obviously we realized the talent he was right away. And so when he wrote his first play, we directed it. I remember we won several awards on the east coast with that play, including one at a Jesuit drama Festival in Philadelphia. It must have been a Sunday night - Jim couldn't go - and when we won, we got in the station wagon and were driving around Philly trying to find a place to celebrate - and everywhere was closed! It was so comical that we couldn't find a single place in the big city to celebrate! I always remember that. And also, Jason graduated from the University and wanted to go to the drama department at Washington Catholic University for his graduate work, and so he asked Jim and me to write a letter to help him get in because we had both attended Catholic U. Of course, we wrote the letter and he always credited that letter with getting him started. He had such great successes, but he never forgot our friendship. He gave the eulogy at Jim's funeral. We were planning to do a play this summer at the tent as we've done so many together. We were just talking the day before he died about our plans, and he had all kinds of irons in the fire. He was going to be in the Odd Couple and then direct me in the second show, and he wasn't slowing down at all. I just feel like a whole huge part of my life is over and gone. And I'm so sad. He was so special.

- Eleanor Langan, area actress

So fragile is the chariot that carries the human heart. He was like the Mel Brooks of Scranton! He loved the coal mines, basketball, the theatre, the Lackawanna Valley, its night-life and its young culture - he loved life! And he respected people for who they are, whether they be gay, straight, married, or divorced. He was always a man in search of the theatre and wherever he saw a space, he wanted to put on a show. The theatre was his home - as were the people in it. I worked with Jason for 20 years, and he was a beacon of light in the community. But the most important thing to remember is that his words will live. What will be remembered is not how many awards he received - not the Tony or the Pulitzer - but his voice and his words: the beautiful language of "Barrymore's Ghost," and the brilliant athleticism of "That Championship Season." They are caveats to the world and to the community.

- Bill Hines, former theatre critic and arts writer for the Scranton Times-Tribune

Miller's Mantra

Jason was known for quoting all kinds of things - some you'd know immediately, and others so obscure yet inspiring that you'd scramble to the books to find the words for your own eyes. Some were spilled from his own clever pen, while others, like Teddy Roosevelt's "The Man in the Arena," were simply made great in his mouth. Jason's dear friend, Bob Shlesinger, said of the verse "If you want to know Jason, that's him."

Far better it is to dare mighty things, to win glorious triumphs, even though checkered by failure, than to take rank with those poor spirits who neither enjoy much nor suffer much, because they live in the gray twilight that knows not victory nor defeat. It is not the critic who counts, nor the man who points out how the strong man stumbled, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena; whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs and comes short again and again; who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions, and spends himself in a worthy cause. Who, if he wins, knows in the end the triumph of high achievement; and who, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat.

Back