Remembering Dennis

(Published in the Janesville Messenger, 7-21-2013)

The Janesville community lost a giant last month.

Dennis Vechinsky touched countless lives in his 74 years on earth. He had a trio of passions - education, theater and music - and through whichever of those outlets you knew him, you knew he brought talent, dedication, wisdom and his amazing wit.

Although he and I were most connected by our love of community theater, it was through his position on the Janesville Board of Education that I first met him when I was the education liaison at Forward Janesville. Before long, he and I ended up regularly having our own post-meeting conversations where he would share his unfiltered and often side-splitting opinions.

I arrived too late to the community theater scene to witness him playing what everyone agreed was the role made for him, Tevye in “Fiddler on the Roof.” But I got a taste of it when he sang his signature song, “If I Were A Rich Man,” during “Janesville In Stages,” the opening night show at the new Janesville Performing Arts Center in 2004. (You can find this performance on YouTube.) My young children were mesmerized by him and when the DVD of that show arrived in my home, they repeatedly viewed his performance.

It was during the play portion of that show that Dennis and I had our lone true stage experience together. I did not intend to act in that show, but the opportunity to share a scene with him, just he and I, was something I was not going to miss. Fittingly, his character was a school teacher, a job he held and loved for 21 years. A scene where he was conducting his final class before retiring was a highlight and so typical of the magic Dennis could conjure. Along with Dennis' dead-on performance, the young people in the scene rose to the occasion, no doubt because Dennis had that quality about him, the ability to bring out something special in you when you were around him. From the comments I have heard about him as an actual teacher, that talent was not limited to the stage but also evident in the classroom.

Dennis urged everyone to “keep smiling,” and he managed to do so, even when incredibly painful back and leg troubles, numerous operations, and extended cancer treatments gave him every right to curse the world.

When Laurel Canan was JPAC's executive director, she wanted to pair Dennis and I up in the two-man stage version of Mitch Albom's “Tuesdays With Morrie” as a fundraiser for local hospices. By this time, Dennis' back and leg issues were becoming a problem, so he joked that the role of Morrie (a dying ALS patient) was perfect for him because he could lie in bed for most of the play. We were chomping at the bit and had even begun rehearsing, but the plan was squashed when we were unable to obtain the performance rights to the show. It was one of those projects that we were always going to do “someday.” But someday never came, which will always be a great regret.

The awful irony is that my last conversations with Dennis were, indeed, as he was lying in a bed proceeding toward his death. In one of those hospital visits, he was unable to communicate much, but he was still Dennis. When I threw a good-natured gibe at him, he responded with a smirk and a shake of his fist.

In “Tuesdays With Morrie,” when Mitch's visits with Morrie came to an end, he would kiss his former instructor on the forehead for “extra credit.” That thought crossed my mind on June 14 as I prepared to visit Dennis at his home for what I assumed would be the final time, only to get a call that he had already passed away.

So this column is your kiss, Dennis. Keep smiling, my friend.