EULOGY FOR DAN BREDEMANN delivered at Sarasota Funeral, November 16, 2005
I fell in love with Dan Bredemann from the moment I met him at an audition for “Breaking the Code” (a play made famous by Derek Jacobi). As we loitered waiting to read, I walked right up to him and said, “You must be Alan Turing.” He smiled: “And you, of course, are Pat Green.” Neither of us was cast; the lead went to the director’s boyfriend, but that evening brought me a gift more rewarding and life-changing than any part ever, ever could. Because not only did I, at 26, gain my first and best close male friend, but I also met the incisive sage who, just by being his gregarious Aquarius self, put me in touch with deep wisdom (and its counselors) that began my whole spiritual path, eventually culminating in my training as an interfaith minister and my M.A. in Philosophy and Religion. Dan had such a capacity to recognize a kindred spirit, almost at first glance. And thru our 14 years, we took a similar journey from theatre to studying the divine spark that lies behind it, to the Essence that poetry is meant to capture, and back to theatre again.
Because of the first version of his Lewis Carroll play, I asked him in ’95, to direct my one-woman show: “Virginia Woolf: A Room of One’s Own”—which was successful for its simplicity. He designed the set to fit in a handbag: “bag o’ show,” he called it. And I learned to trust my directing skill in other areas. I never made a major move in my life with respect to people without running it past Dan for analysis. As one of the top 5 brightest people I have ever met, he had such a gift for seeing the overview of a situation and distilling it to its essential themes.
Part of that was natural intelligence, but alot of it was the product of training. Quote: of “the incredible amount of work I’ve done on myself,” end quote. Dan was not only a gifted artist, as we all know, but he was an artificial man in the highest sense of the word. Like a master Pygmalion sculptor carving the beloved Galatea of his own soul, or Da Vinci refining his Mona Lisa self-portrait over decades, Dan chipped away at the detritus of his psyche with a dedication that resulted in a radiant authenticity of Self shining thru. Artists are truth junkies more than lovers of make-believe. And Dan had a passion for uncovering the truth of his being (and other people’s) that lived most purely in his work as a writer and actor and coach.
Of Dan’s many exceptional qualities, it was no surprise that the #1 feature that came to A.J.’s mind as we chatted on the way to the airport yesterday, was the same one that occurred to me first: his sense of humor. So understated, yet eviscerating—no one could puncture the balloon of ego with the razor sharpness of Doctor Diva Dan. Yet, always a creature of contrasts, no one could be a more gracious host, putting the cantankerous at ease, making the sullen effusive, and the paranoid feel relaxed and welcome.
Perhaps his most inspiring and influential quality for me was his commitment to compassion, racheting open that heart chakra to be available to his fellow man, even when he considered them, perhaps rightly, to be “lower life forms.” (So tell us what you really think, Dan.) He could call a spade a spade and yet be supportive anyway.
In his appreciation and honoring of strong women, he was a role-model for every man on this planet. What pleased me most about being in his company was not needing to hide, shrink or water myself down in order to make him comfortable. Not only could he meet and match my intensity, but he had a talent for turning even the most trivial or narcissistic story of hinself into an enlivening entertainment for others.
What he’d most often talk about was his zeal for human evolution: the new, the improved, the cutting edge. His enthusiasm and sense of adventure were infectious.
I loved his elegance, his bashfulness, his sense of romance. The blend of which I think can be seen in that photo portrait.
I’ll miss 100 things about Dan often, not the least of which is directing his King Lear as we’d planned for next year. Hearing of his untimely death has stirred a “howl, howl, howl” for everyone who knew him. He is irreplaceable.
Of all his impressive accomplishments the one he was most proud of, as he told me several times, was as parent to Adria.
In sum, multi-talented Daniel Charles Bredemann deserves the highest compliment I know how to give: He was genuinely useful . . . to himself, others and to the universal divine.
Jeannine Annette Grizzard, Atlanta (Gigi)