mary van milligen

Observing choices people make in life, I couldn’t help but think of the famous words of witty and truthful writer Noel Coward when he wrote, “It’s discouraging to think how many people are shocked by honesty and how few by deceit.” This phrase popped into my mind last night, and after contemplating this statement, I began to think of the sarcastic and sophisticated professor who introduced me to Noel Coward when he cast me in the play “Blithe Spirit.”

Unfortunately, I coincidentally learned early this morning that the soothing voiced professor/director passed away hours before he entered my thoughts.  His name was (it saddens me to use past tense) Chet Kondratowicz.

This phenomenal teacher became my mentor, director, father, and friend in 1994.  He overwhelmingly encouraged my pursuit of secondary education.  He recollected several instances when he began his own teaching career and remarked how much I would love the profession.  Without his knowledge, I studied him and the way he earned the respect of his students. I stole his uncanny ability to use his sense of humor to get a student to see the error of his or her ways with humility.  A few years into my own career, I spent time with Chet at a Lewis University event.  My stories stirred Chet’s nostalgia with his own early years’ tales and towards the end of our conversation he simply paused, looked directly in my eyes, and told me with his smooth grin“It’s a good life.”  20 years later, I emphatically agree.

As a director, I specifically enjoyed working with him when he cast me as Bella in “Lost in Yonkers.”  Throughout the production, Chet celebrated my performances, but he chronically approached me about one line.  The character tells her mother at the end of the play that the new boy she has grown fond of “can read everything”.  He kept telling me to find the humor in the line.  I tried to sell the line in, I felt, every way possible, but it never hit.  After the 14^th note about the same line, my 19-year-old brain would think “Chet, just tell me how to say the f-ing line.  Why do you keep telling me to try it again? For the love of God.”  But, he didn’t. He wouldn’t interpret it for me.  And this is one of the million reasons Chet was such a great director.  He wanted me to do the work.  He wanted me to learn. He wanted me to find the beat.  He wanted me to discover that he “can read (place the pause) everything (stretch the word everything).” Hear the laughter. He wanted me to see that I, on my own as well as in life, can figure it out.

As a father, Chet cared and loved. He taught me that Greek dancing in the streets is perfectly acceptable and how to make and pronounce vichyssoise. He taught me how to be classy yet still relatable.  He opened his door and didn’t judge me when I confessed all of my insecurities.

As a friend, Chet listened and laughed while we ate spinach and garlic pizzas at Salernos. Taught me the lyrics to “Is that All There Is?” He reminded me to laugh at myself. He told me how much I needed to go to NYC when I was in college and how much I would love it.  He was right, and I’ve been often, and he again, was on my mind when I took my own daughters to their first Broadway show last spring.

My heart aches tonight for Chet.  I hope you’re chewing on a martini and enjoying a great and heavenly buffet (and teaching your new friends the correct pronunciation of the word buffet).

I love you, CK.