Joyce Sloane died last week at the age of 80. She was the matriarch of The Second City, having been a central part of the famous theater company for 50 of its 51 years. The term matriarch has never been more appropriate than when discussing Joyce and her relationship to we who merited to know and work with her.
Like so many well known, influential and respected comic actors, writers, producers and directors, I owe much of my success to Joyce Sloane and the opportunities she provided to me early in my career.
Which is really important because I am not well known, influential or respected for my work on stage or in film. I’m a rabbi. Nevertheless, the two years I spent in the conservatory paved the way for every success I’ve had since.
The areas in which I most easily operate as a rabbi are, without coincidence, based on skills which I discovered, explored and heightened during my time with you all. Joyce opened the door for me to study on one of her Producer’s Scholarships.
I also was lucky enough to work on production and in the Box Office, for which I still owe gratitude and apologies to Kelly Leonard. The Second City was my entire world for a couple of years at one of the most formative and important times of my life. And a lot of time–a whole lot of time–was spent in Joyce’s office.
I was constantly amazed at how freely she shared her time and her memories. My childhood heroes had come through this place. I was surrounded by people of immense drive and talent and the shadow of the giants whose names and likenesses were found on every wall.
You must understand, as it was for so many of you, Second City was holy to me. Second City is still holy to me. The place is sacred. I don’t use that word lightly. Holiness in Judaism is wrapped up in the idea of separateness, distinctness, things that are not like other, mundane, common things. Transformative places. Places of growth, challenge and insight. Places where people come together and create things greater than the sum of its parts. Theater and religion have been linked since Ancient Egypt. The two were analogous in Aeschylus’ day. What is improvisation, then, my friends, if not a form of spontaneous group prayer? What is learned and practiced here has benefit and application far beyond common entertainment.
“Make them laugh here, then think on the way home.” That’s a special kind of wisdom that you don’t get in rabbinical school. You learn it here, but believe me when I say it works just as well during my Friday night ‘show’ at the Temple.
But sometimes she was mean. Yes, that’s right. Well, maybe not mean, exactly. Brutally honest, in a way that was too damn funny, because to use an old rabbinical term, it cut through all the bullshit.
My father came to visit me once. I introduced him to Joyce. Later that day, Joyce said to me “Your father is so tall, and good looking, and successful. That must be very hard on you.”
Yes, yes it is. Thanks.
Another time, I had taken to wearing this black fedora. I thought it was cool. It was an homage to The Blues Brothers, of course. See, I was keeping John Belushi’s spirit alive (as though I was the one to do it–the word here is Chutzpah) and wasn’t it obvious?
I come in wearing the hat, and the full beard I was sporting at the time, another terrible idea, and Joyce merely glances at me and asks, “Are you a rabbi?”
Yes. Yes I am.
I don’t think it was her way of suggesting I find a different day job, but the irony isn’t lost on me. And though that wasn’t the way she helped guide me to the rabbinate as a career, she had a big hand in it.
She got me set up with tickets to synagogue and welcomed me into her home for the Jewish High Holidays each year. It was probably no big deal for her. For me, it was a very big deal. Who was I to be invited to her home?
More importantly, she encouraged me to stay connected religiously. At a time when it would have been very easy for me to simply abandon any vestige of Jewish affiliation, she stepped in and gave me back my neshama–my spirit. We call that a “mehayeh”, bringing people’s life spirit back. She excelled at that.
People were important to her. Her family and friends were important to her. Her Judaism was important to her. She made me feel that I was important to her. And I try to give that back to my congregants and students every day.
Two years ago, I was in Chicago for a conference. I added a day to my trip so I could come visit. I sat with Joyce for well over two hours. Everyone else welcomed me equally warmly, whether or not they had any idea who I was. Again, Joyce had opened the door for me and made me feel I had come home.
When we ensure someone receives a proper burial and memorial after their death, we refer to it as a truly selfless act. We do so without any expectation of any repayment, not even the expression of gratitude. I’m not sure that applies in this case. I can think of very few people to whom I and so many others owe so much.
Her memory shall remain in our lives as an enduring blessing.
Rabbi Jonathan Siger, Houston, TX
