Thursday, March 14, 2019
I got to know Byron when I was cast in "Seven Stories" in 2000. He was an incredibly gentle, intelligent and humourous director, and I was thrilled to work with him on two other plays, "Playboy of the Western World" and "Oleanna", for which he would later win Best Director at the TheatreBC Mainstage Festival.
I loved spending time with Byron, because he had one of the most brilliant, uncommon minds I've known. I think he approached directing the same way he approached architecture—with a determination to create something singular, unusual, challenging and inspiring. And, if possible, a little bit twisted. He liked altered perspectives and that showed up in his work.
I will remember his kindness and his sense of humour, but also his determination. His Parkinson's was a challenge for him but it was never a roadblock. When my youngest son was still a baby, Byron said he could balance him standing on the palm of his hand. I was terrified, but I also trusted that Byron wouldn't bring harm to my child. And damned if he didn't hold my son upright, feet held firmly in his hand, in a moment that was both terrifying and thrilling.
One last memory I want to share: I loved visiting Byron's house, which he designed. It was full of books, working sheepdogs and huge windows with incredible views. At the entrance, he had a stone pillar, a hitching posts of sorts, on which was etched the following:
TOTI
EHOR
SESTO
He had guests gathered around trying to determine what it meant. It was surely Latin, they said, and tried to riddle out the meaning. He asked me to try. By this time, I had learned that Byron liked to look at common things and make them slightly askew.
"To tie horses to," I said. He puffed up his chest like a proud father. And I felt that understanding his riddle was one of my greatest accomplishments.
