Thursday, May 17, 2001
Farewell Friend
 

By Wendy Maopolski ELECTRIC CITY EDITOR

It was with heavy hearts and red-rimmed eyes that we managed to piece together this week's edition of electric city. Like zombies, everyone in our office trudged back-and-forth from our desks, still not believing this past weekend's events.

Our adored mentor, Jason Miller, had died.

Jason was a good friend to electric city. He was always quick to call and compliment a story we had done, and he and his beloved, Dana Oxley, were regular fixtures at Electric City social events. He'd pop in our offices often, and the last time he was here, he brought along his Pulitzer Prize for all of us to see.

Immediately, the gang of us drooled all over it, much like a midget football player would touching a Heismann Trophy or an aspiring actress an Academy Award. Jason certainly made our jobs all that much more exciting.

And now he was gone.

And yet, as the days went by, I came to the realization that Jason will never really be gone. You see, Jason planted many seeds in our community, especially in regards to the arts. He encouraged and nurtured so many in our area, drawing out that one talent each of us possesses, and forcing that talent out into the light. Best of all, Jason didn't care what package that talent came wrapped in: rich or poor; black or white; animal, vegetable or mineral. And he did it all with a wicked sense of humor, a voice drenched in eloquence, and a most mischievous outlook on life.

In these past few days, I've talked to so many who loved Jason so deeply. We all cried and laughed at the same time, sharing our favorite Jason stories. One of mine, most certainly, would have to be the night Jason was honored with the Pennsylvania Film Festival's inaugural Keystone Award at a gala reception at the Trolley Museum.

Jason looked delicious in a vintage-look tux, and Dana most ravishing in her floor-length gown. That magical night ended with the majority of us meeting up at W.T. Hackett's, where we all watched the news coverage on television screens hanging over the bar, screaming and laughing whenever we recognized one of us at the party.

Then there was the night just a few short weeks ago, when I headed to Farley's with Dana, Jason and e.c. writer Alicia Grega-Pikul, for a nightcap after the opening of "That Championship Season," the first time I had gotten to see Jason's monumental play. We spent a quiet night barside where we all just talked the night away and before I knew it, it was closing time. During the night, however, Jason and I had a brief discussion about traveling, and we both agreed that Budapest is one of the world's most beautiful cities.

"Did I ever tell you about the time I ended up in a Hungarian jail cell?" he asked me, but before he could expound, a fan had approached and they became lost in their own conversation. Then, hours later, just as we were leaving, he turned to me and said, "I never did get to tell you about Hungary. Oh well, next time."

Of course, there would be no next time.

And although there's this nagging pain in my chest and a lump in my throat whenever I think of Jason, at the same time, I am ever so elated that I got to know him and call him my friend. Like I said earlier, Jason will never really be gone from us. He will always be there, prodding and inspiring us, a muse of the most mischievous kind. Besides, we all know that Jason had a very spiritual side to him, and right now he is somehow, somewhere watching over us, rolling his eyes at the melodrama of all of us crying and weeping below.

Someday, I know I will come across Jason Miller again. After all, I'm dying to find out about the Hungarian jail cell.

Until then, good-bye my friend. And thank you for all that you gave to us.

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