Christopher Pennock was, in the most Marvel of manners, an Ultimate Being. He was impossible in every sense ... impossibly talented, neurotic, loving, tempestuous, honest, intelligent, and necessarily profane. We lost him today. He had been suffering for some time. Depending on his mood, Pennock might have joked that he had been suffering for his entire life ... when he wasn’t busy living it to a degree that would have shamed a marching band.
At its essence, theatre is about the struggle to make necessary changes after learning uncomfortable truths. Ladies and gentlemen, Chris Pennock. Growing up resisting the repression of the east coast’s bluest WASP blood, he was a much needed anarchist against rigid conformity. From interviews, it’s also clear that his anarchy was in the pursuit of something better. He was frank with all of us. When the conch shell of The @ButtockPennock blew the clarion raspberry, we heard of life’s triumphs and tragedies with relentless candor on social media. Often in secret code. I think my first interaction with him was over a stated intention to end it all. He had a forlorn dignity about it, and I couldn’t bring myself to argue with him. What could you do?
It’s hard to imagine a festival without his Falstaffian presence.
I’m not sure he’s really gone from the mortal world... in the same sense that I’m not sure he was ever fully mired by it. He had the unmistakable crackle of bodhisattva as much as man, and the uncompromising humor and affection that surrounded him at his best proves my point. In his passionate extremes, he achieved a wild and pained balance. If matters became too dour, an ironic observation would rip forth with a master’s timing. And he was just as capable of deeply human kindness and insight. He genuinely existed with one foot on earth and one foot someplace else entirely. Both places are the better because of it.
Om mani padme hum, you big galoot.
You mattered.
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