Last night I performed a show in Lexington KY for a group of scientists. It was the final show on my calendar that was a referral from Tim. I knew they had tried to book Tim, had booked him before, and he had talked them into hiring me for the gig in his place. I didn’t know the full story though until the conference chairman stood up to introduce me.
This is, not verbatim but pretty close, the introduction I received last night:
“Everyone remembers where they were on 9/11 2001. Many of us were here, at this conference, and we were entertained that terrible night by a remarkable gentleman named Tim Conover. Tim was in the air on his way here when news of the hijackings stopped all flights, grounding him in Atlanta. Tim insisted that he still wanted to perform for us, so we sent our vice president to fetch him and drive him here.
“We had intended to have Tim here again tonight, on the tenth anniversary of that conference, but his untimely passing made that impossible. Before his passing though, Tim introduced us to a close friend of his, and assured us the gentleman you’re about to meet is among the best entertainers in the country. Tim said “best in the world” but I didn’t want to give him too big of a build up.
“Please welcome Eric Mead.”
It was a surprise, caught me completely off guard, and my eyes were stinging with tears as I walked on to the stage last night. Im happy to say I delivered a good show. Tim would have approved.
After the show I was sitting having wine with the organizers and they regaled me with lots of stories, all about Tim, and Sept 11.
Tim’s luggage had been lost in the confusion of grounding all planes, so he asked them to find him a shirt, jacket and tie. They loaned him the clothes. He was picked up at a mall in Atlanta and driven four hours to the gig. On the ride he sat in the back of the car arranging and organizing his props for the show. He called several times with little requests–could you get me a copy of USA Today; can someone arrange for a number of large notepads and magic markers, etc. He arrived late, no time for anything other than putting in the borrowed clothes in a bathroom, and carrying his props onto the stage with him. They loved him.
After the show he insisted on going to the late night hospitality suite and performing close up magic for no additional fee. Your brother understood that he could offer something uplifting, something artistic therapeutic and human in the face of unspeakable evil, and rose to the occasion. (Bravo, dear friend, bravo.)
One more story–a perfect and typical “Tim” story–from that night: he had been loaned a jacket and tie for the show. In fact Don, the man who introduced me, had loaned Tim the tie. After the show Tim flatly refused to give it back. You see, Tim had sweated through his shirt, and the tie was stained. He insisted on taking it home and having it cleaned before giving it back. Don thought this was ridiculous, not necessary, but Tim was adamant. Don told me that privately he thought he’d never see the tie again. But a couple weeks
later the tie arrived, cleaned and pressed, with a note of thanks.
Don wears that tie to the conference every year since. It’s a tradition he said, in memory of the terrible events of Sept 11, and a magician who went out of his way to bring joy and wonder to a group of strangers that night.
This Don wearing the tie.
My love to you both, and I hope these stories of dear, sweet, talented Tim make you feel as happy and proud as they did me. I hadn’t cried over Tim in quite a while. But last night I sat in my room and wept after the show. I loved him. I miss him. I was proud to be his friend.
Abrazos,
EM
Eric Mead
Aspen, Colorado
September 2011