“You’ll write again when you have something to say.”
Whenever I got down on myself for not writing, my friend Roger would offer some variation of this advice. He didn’t believe you had to write every day to be considered a writer. He didn’t think you had to spend hours doing morning pages to call yourself a writer. While I partially agreed with him, I knew practice was the only way to improve. So, when I had even a small chunk of free time from work or parenting, I would berate myself for not writing.
At the end of 1991, I quit my first full-time job as a production coordinator at a small creative agency to pursue a career as a playwright. I had just come out as gay, but then I got scared and went back into the closet. However, because I had already confided in a few friends about my truth, I couldn’t stay in there for long. They knew what was going on and were concerned about me. With kindness and love, they supported me, shared their own stories, and showed me that it was possible to be happy as an openly gay man.
By Spring 1992, I had become a bit more comfortable in my skin. My friend Matt invited me to brunch with his friends, some gay, in New York City. And that’s when I met Roger. From the moment we met, he made me feel welcome and showed a genuine interest in getting to know me. He would ask questions and attentively listen to my responses without interruption or distraction.
While I can’t recall the specifics of our conversation, I’m sure I mentioned being a playwright. In a joking yet polite manner, Roger, a composer, offered me his first piece of advice: if you could be happy doing anything else besides playwriting, do that instead. Having experienced some heartbreaking moments in his career as a composer, he understood how the theater industry could crush one’s soul and spirit. I appreciated his honest advice but chose not to listen or heed his warning (although looking back, perhaps I should have). But I had just embarked on this journey and wasn’t ready to give up. Later, Roger asked if he could read my work, and I promptly mailed him a copy of my latest script the following day.
Originally from Shreveport, Louisiana, Roger had traces of a Southern accent and he called me Petey, although with his slight drawl, it sounded more like Pee-Dee. I found his accent charming and disarming. When he was 16, Roger left Louisiana to study violin and viola at the University of Southern California. He then moved to Manhattan to explore voice, theater, and composition.
A decade before we met, in early 1980, Roger collaborated with lyricist and DC Comics author Lee Goldsmith to write SHINE, a musical about a bootblack based on the works of Horatio Alger. SHINE, developed by 20th Century Fox, was bound for Broadway in 1982. Unfortunately, the show never made it to the stage. Roger shared little about the show’s demise, but he advised me to avoid making the same mistakes he did. Over the years, I learned bits and pieces from mutual friends about the events that led to the show’s rise and fall. This was Roger’s second near-miss at a Broadway premiere. In 1981, just days before the first rehearsal for his musical CHAPLIN, financial difficulties forced delays and its eventual cancellation.
Fifteen years my senior, Roger became a gay father figure for me. Throughout the 1990s, I spent countless nights in his apartment drinking merlot, eating Chinese takeout, and discussing personal and professional issues, mostly mine. Whether it was boy trouble, confusion about life, or creative struggles, visiting Roger often brought clarity. I admired his ability to offer advice without judgment.
Most importantly, Roger understood, supported, and believed in me—as both a writer and a gay man trying to find his place in the gay community. He saw me for who I was and never tried to change me. And whatever my situation, Roger always told me he was proud of me.
In a parallel life, Roger had an accomplished career as an IT consultant. He worked with notable clients such as Citicorp, JPMorganChase, HSBC, Morgan Stanley, Actors’ Equity Association, The Actors Fund, BroadwayCares, Samuel French, The New School, and The Association of Theatrical Press Agents and Managers (ATPAM).
By no means was Roger wealthy, and yet he was generous with his money, space, and time. He never let me pay for dinner, whether we ordered in or ate out. We usually dined at the Hudson Corner Café, one of his favorite places. Since I shared almost everything about my life with him, he knew money was tight for me. So to help me scrape by, he gave me small graphic design projects. For example, every year he asked me to create a simple ATPAM ad for the Tony Awards program, and then would grossly overpay for my time. I’m sure he paid me out of his own pocket, but he would deny it when I asked, saying only that it wasn’t for me to worry about.
Roger always offered a place to stay for any of his friends who fell on hard times, were between living situations, or were passing through New York City. He used to joke that everyone gets 2 weeks on his sofa whenever they needed it. Years later, he extended the 2-week sofa offer to my son Kevin in case he ever needed or wanted to get away from his parents. In our 32-year friendship, I spent countless hours hanging out on his sofa but never slept over or took advantage of my 2-week reserve. And neither did Kevin.
Now, about Danny and me becoming Kevin’s parents, well, let’s say I didn’t always agree with or take Roger’s advice. When I shared the news about us possibly adopting, he said, “Don’t do it, Petey. It’s a big mistake if you ask me.” Although he believed Danny and I would be good, effective parents, he worried about us and our potential son’s future. “That poor kid is going to have to explain to people for the rest of his life why he has two dads and no mother. It’s not fair to him. He’ll be fine with another family.”
To Roger’s credit, it didn’t take long for him to have a change of heart. “It’s a beautiful thing you boys have done for this baby,” he said a few weeks after Kevin came home. “You and Danny are the best thing that’s ever happened for this kid, and he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to you. I was scared for you. I still am. But what do I know? I’m just a lil’ ol’ guy from Louisiana. I don’t know nothin’ about all this baby stuff.”
Whenever I wrote something new, I always shared it with Roger first. (He would have been the first person to read this post.) He provided honest, thoughtful, and sometimes hard-to-hear feedback, supporting and nurturing me as a writer. He recognized my voice long before I did. Roger attended every reading, workshop, and production. In 1999, I formed Other Side Productions, a small independent not-for-profit theater company. Roger suggested that his friend Chuck be the director of our premiere production. This introduction had a profound impact on my family. Chuck and I became close friends, and he eventually became Nanny Chuck to Kevin, watching him every Thursday evening for 12 years so Danny and I could have a date night.
Roger designed sound and wrote new music for all of our shows. When we couldn’t find a soundboard operator for productions, he volunteered to run sound. Truth be told, we never seriously looked for a soundboard operator because we knew he’d step in. Plus, Roger didn’t trust anyone else to hit the cues and set the proper levels for his meticulously crafted effects and compositions. Despite his grumblings about being cramped into a tiny, hot sound booth every night for a month, there was no place he’d rather be than with the people he loved and who loved him back.
In 2010, when SHINE was selected to participate in the New York Musical Festival (NYMF), Roger suggested that Other Side Productions act as the producing organization. Other Side had not produced a musical before, and I had no experience with musicals. Roger said he’d coordinate and handle all the creative aspects if I took care of the administrative and marketing end. This was the least I could do, and for a change, I looked forward to supporting him and his creative life.
Since he and everyone involved hoped the show would get noticed and picked up by a Broadway producer, it had to be polished and entertaining from curtain up to curtain call. Most, if not all, of the assembled creative team were seasoned and talented Broadway professionals. (See more about the cast and crew here.) The NYMF production was a magnificent series of performances of a professional caliber that could have easily moved to a permanent theater for a longer run.
Roger poured his heart and every last drop of energy into the endeavor, seeing it as a shot at redemption for the regret and heartbreak of SHINE not reaching Broadway in the early 1980s. Wanting everything to be perfect, he didn’t sleep much before and during the run. This took a toll, emotionally and physically. About a week before the first performance, we sat in his living room and talked about the show’s progress. He expressed that it felt like his last chance to make it, to make SHINE a hit, to make money with the show, and to make it in New York. The pressure he put on himself to fulfill his hopes was palpable. He confided in me that he had started taking unprescribed sleeping pills he had ordered online.
I worried about him. I hugged him and told him I loved and was proud of him. Roger, more comfortable with giving than receiving support, let his guard down and shared his fears and doubts, crying on my shoulder. In that moment, our roles reversed, and I was grateful to be there for him, reciprocating the love and support he had given me for many years.
Despite sold-out shows and rave reviews, SHINE never returned to the stage after the festival. If Roger felt disappointed, he hid it well. I knew he mourned privately. “You have to move on,” he had often advised me on personal or professional setbacks. It came as no surprise that he was heeding his own advice and moving forward.
In the years following the NYMF production, he worked on various projects, whether new endeavors or recomposing older works. He engineered sound for several more Other Side shows. In 2012, his musical CHAPLIN received a warm welcome in London. While it didn’t bring him fame or fortune, which he desperately needed to sustain his life in New York City, Roger kept moving on.
Just before the pandemic struck in 2020, after being a New Yorker for over 50 years, he decided to leave the city. The cost of living in New York without consistent income had become unsustainable. He researched different places to live and settled on moving to Nashville, which was closer to his family. A few days before his move, I visited his now-empty apartment for the last time. His place and the memories we shared there had transformed my life. As we reminisced, tears started to flow from my eyes. Roger embraced me tightly, urging me not to cry. He whispered in my ear, “Pee-Dee, don’t do it. If you keep crying, I’m going to cry, and I don’t want to do that.”
Roger kept many things private. He enjoyed being a bit of mystery. He could be stubborn and contrarian at times, you know, to keep us all on our toes. But I appreciated this side of him because we both shared similar contrarian and irreverent viewpoints and philosophies about the world. And we could relate to one another honestly, in short-hand, and without fear of getting canceled.
Besides my husband Danny, Roger was among a select few to whom I could rant and gripe. Both being born and raised in the South, Roger felt a kinship with Danny. He naturally understood him, whereas I sometimes needed a Southerner to Yankee translation. In a recent email, after I told Roger about Danny putting up with my venting, he said, “Poor Danny. He’ll be OK when you guys are retired in Texas on your ostrich ranch.” (Ostriches are not in our future.)
Roger and I stayed in touch after he moved, primarily through email and text. When we had the chance to speak, our conversations would often last for hours. Over the past 4 years, he opened up to me more about his Louisiana upbringing. He would send me pictures of his younger self with his mom and brothers. I remember him saying many times that as we grow older, we feel a strong longing to return home. I believe this is why he chose to move to Nashville—it was close enough to home yet still a vibrant city.
He confided in me that leaving New York City was one of the hardest things he had ever done. Like many others, Roger came to the city with high hopes and dreams. He had achieved some impressive accomplishments and was viewed by many as a prodigy and rising star in the musical theater world. However, he said he felt like a failure and wept as he drove across the Hudson River, leaving his New York in the rear view mirror.
But Roger was anything but a failure. Even though his name may have never graced a Broadway marquee, he made a significant impact on the lives of so many. His true success manifested in a different form — it was about the people he touched, the souls he nurtured, and the love he shared. His kindness, love, and support enriched my life.
Lately, whenever I confided in him about my current professional opportunities and the trade-offs that accompanied certain choices, he would remind me that, in the end, all we have is our dignity and integrity. Roger left New York City with both still intact.
And that’s how he left this earth in the last week of May earlier this year.
September 5th marks what would have been Roger’s 72nd birthday.
You were right, my friend. I wrote this piece when I had something to say. I’m a better person because you were in my life. Rest in peace. Until we meet again. Love you forever.
Roger’s website is still active. Please pay it a vist. Read more about him. Listen to his music and find more info about his work. A couple of his musicals have been published, and those may be found here. A couple of songs and a playlist of songs from SHINE are at the end of this post. JUMP TO MUSIC.
Now and then, Roger would send me emails out of the blue, tales from the frontier, as he called them. Many were stories from his past. I never asked why he sent these to me. Because I knew why: he was trying to remember his history in hopes that someone else would remember. I’m not going to share these stories here. Instead, I will share some nuggets of wisdom he’d drop into a message or an email. Much of this “wisdom” is insightful, funny, sweet, and often sarcastic, witty, rueful, angry, and bitter, all with a tinge of sentimentality that made him who he was.
Grab a weighted blanket, find a safe space, and enjoy.
Here are some of my favorite Rogerisms.
ON AGING
One of the very few good things about old: Time and initiative to complain about the small things. It’s nature’s way. Part of the DNA genome design.
You know you’ve entered elderworld when you spend 1/2 hour online and phone with an Amazon customer rep over a $7 order of bar soap that was 25 grams smaller than advertised.
So yesterday I called my “financial advisor” about moving the cash left in my IRA to a short term CD. His name is Logan. He answers the phone, “Happy Taco Tuesday!” I’m old now, so I thought I had called Pizza Hut by mistake. But no, I hadn’t. So I said, “Logan, that’s not a greeting I want to hear from someone managing my money. I worked for decades in banking customer service, and people don’t want to smell B.O. or bad breath, see green neckties or facial hair, or hear goofy quips when dealing with the bank.”
You know you’re terribly old when your first sex crush dies at 87.
Isn’t hair under-appreciated in our 20s?
My niece asked me what I was doing for my birthday. I said I forgot it was my birthday and so should everyone else. I might treat myself to some Fritos.
I keep wanting to microwave things in my cupboard. But I figure it’s their fault for putting the cupboard door right next to my microwave.
By the way, you know you’re old when you have lengthy discussions about toilet paper.
I’ll try to avoid a broken hip. Andersons are large boys, and it would take more than a fall. A runaway tractor, maybe.
My concern about getting old, besides getting shady, is requiring help. I hate relying on other people, and I will have no choice sooner or later. But there are plenty of people who do OK into their 90s. But they are usually selfish and hateful types. Sense of humor, don’t get fat, healthy teeth, stay clean, smell good, stay involved and creative. Other than that, it’s just luck.
The secret of aging is to stay interested. Smell good. Be tidy. And have people enjoy your company.
The old man is trying to stay strong. I’m beginning to think that’s overrated.
Old age is awful. But not as bad as I thought.
It happens quickly. But at least I don’t have Botox, fillers, hair transplants, and skin cancer to add to my aging.
I would start to accept the mirror. It just gets worse and worse.
I hear that Tinder is for gay people now since Grindr went so woke. I’m glad I’m too old for any of it. But I would like to find money and a cute Nashville [boy] who doesn’t arrive with a guitar and his new song.
At my age, you constantly review your choices in life. And I was thinking about my father repeatedly saying, “Roger, you should go into the paper box business, baby. People will always need paper boxes.” But now I see I should’ve gone into the fake penis business. Clearly, a missed opportunity.
The worst part of getting old is the unavoidable evaluation of choice. In my case, choice of survival over confrontation. It doesn’t feel very good these days. Not belonging anywhere. But so it goes.
ON THEATER, WRITING, AND “ART”
The 70s and 80s were pretty adventurous for me. I started at the top and worked my way to the bottom. Not recommended.
People will not tell you when you’re making an ass of yourself in theater because they think they just might need to use you at some point. Luckily, I’m just an old country boy now who used to play piano in the big city. Besides, I always thought I was making an ass of myself in theater.
The world is brutal and against us. This is why I don’t discuss religion, politics, or Stephen Sondheim.
In the end, all we can do is pursue our creative projects for ourselves. Not because it’s “art,” not even because it’s obviously good or unknowingly bad. Life for the human race is about what we leave behind. Good or bad. All just drawings on a Paleolithic cave wall.
Normal, sane people, straight or gay, just wanna see THE MOUSETRAP on Broadway. Then go to a casino and gamble and drink.
I don’t know what it would take to get me in a theater seat again. I doubt I would even see my own show if that miracle ever happened. The thrill is gone. A 65” TV, a wireless headset, and some fried chicken fixes a lot of artistic integrity dilemmas.
I’m now on a mission to force everyone in theater, literature, and music to stop using the words “art” and “artist” to self describe themselves and their stuff.
Musical theater gets dumber by the day.
I stopped complaining about people calling themselves “poets” when they never rhyme anything. These are just more fragile people in the arts you can’t risk offending or you’re a bad bitter person. No fun.
Happiness is not necessarily part of pursuing or living your dream. That, and the probability to succeed, is no longer based on talent or influence or even luck. There is no nobility or integrity in the arts anymore. We are petty, know too much, reveal too much, and honestly aren’t gifted enough in any of it. The tempering of genius and brilliance with social justice and political control has erased the need for greatness or even competence. But of course that’s my bruised perspective. Success or not aside, it took me 40 years to learn how to write well-made musicals. And it took the same 40 years to realize I never wanted to. It was somebody else’s dream all along.
I truly hope Broadway becomes a whore alley of casinos, strip shows, and Cirque de Soleil. Some days, I just can’t let go of 40 years of trying to become successful in a land of people I never liked.
The one saving grace for Hamilton is no one plays an animal. That’s when musical theater on Broadway began the death march.
Maybe what emerges [from COVID] will be wiser. Reasonable ticket prices. Unions not as corrupt. Seats big enough for an adult to fit into. Lyrics that rhyme. I won’t get my hopes up about the last one.
You can tell how proud they are of “rhyming” favor with saviour. Even Minnie Pearl would’ve said “that don’t rhyme.”
This is what happens when you rhyme “strangers” with ‘’language.”
We’re too old for no-money award shit.
The last time I went to that joint [Marie’s Crisis], I was with someone who immediately took over the piano to my horror, and I realized what hell would be for me.
I still hope before I die I might find a producer with some integrity. Maybe in Sweden, where I plan on moving in my 80s.
Fifty years in NYC isn’t shed easy. Not that I could or would return. My NYC is gone except in memory. And that’s the reality. Lots of love from the frontier.
I have known NYC’s uniqueness and odd arrogance for almost 50 years, so little surprises me. But these obscene rent prices against the quality of life have to be a type of insanity—or just pure greed. If people pay, it will continue.
New York is disgusting. This was acceptable when living here was cheaper in the 80s and early 90s. The dirt and grit gave NYC its character. But now, when the cost to live and eat here is so obscene, it’s just a form of abuse.
Without youth, promise, great entertainment, sex, power, money, or opportunity for all of that — what’s left? I asked the same thing when I was 20, but the answer was, “The influence is here.” You need the NYC influence to find your dream.
If somebody doesn’t want to fuck you, success in NYC is a bad bet.
It was hard driving away at 67 years old. It’s hard to admit defeat in so many things. But it’s satisfying knowing I kept my dignity. But I still have time to fuck that up.
I’m happy you’re hopeful since you’re there to stay for a long while. It’s very hard to leave and soon realize the spell NYC conjures, in good times and very bad. I know too well. But after these four years, from out here, NYC now looks like a ship of fools.
ON DIGNITY AND INTEGRITY
All I can tell you is holding on to your integrity is vital. As you age, it amplifies and replaces ambition and desire in importance for good men.
Try not to compromise your integrity too much, but enough to carry on. It will matter to you in 20 years. You’ll be surprised what matters then. As they say, bend but don’t break.
Keep your dignity and a sense of humor.
ON HIS YOUTH AND FAMILY
My parents told me I had a calling. A calling! Can you imagine putting that on a child?
I remember Daddy working for the bread company then and driving one of their delivery trucks. When he drove it home at lunch, I would sneak in the back and lay on the shelves. It smelled like fresh bread and vanilla wafers. I always thought that must be what heaven smells like.
The only wisdom my father passed on to me late one night, deep in thought, was, “Remember, baby, even beautiful women go to the toilet.”
When I was 3 or 4 years old, we lived in a crappy little house in the Cedar Grove neighborhood in Shreveport. During the night, the rats would run through the walls and make all this noise. Mama kept a broom by her bed and would get up at all hours and pound the walls to get them to quiet down. I don’t know which was worse. When we moved to Woodford Street I was terrified to go out to the garage late to get the laundry or something. Daddy had all these shelves for paint and car parts. On the top shelf, all these rats would perch at night. You could see the glow of their eyes when the lights were out. You got used to it. Mama told me to rebuke them, and Jesus would protect me. I guess he did. But I got still bitten by her rooster a lot. I guess rebuking doesn’t work on chickens.
When I was a kid, I honestly kept hoping my real parents would show up. Just drive up and pull into our driveway in a shiny new Buick. I couldn’t possibly be related to these people and there’s just been a terrible mistake. But, alas, no rescue Buick.
GIVING HIS LOVE AND SUPPORT
You are indeed remarkable. You could have succeeded at anything you put your mind to, made bold choices, and survived, and you should not have heard what they now call “diminishment.” It’s a learning method they use in serious classical music training to challenge arrogance. But it’s past time we both stop trying for approval, and simply go for improvement. And a check.
It’s not too late to start new. Never feel you made the wrong choices. I’ve been through that for years now. It doesn’t help. You’ve worked hard. With dignity. You are loved. You made difficult and courageous choices that changed people’s lives. Including mine. There was a mission laid out for you. And it continues. Stay on course. There may be wonderful, unexpected things ahead.
You did indeed pursue your dreams. So be very, very proud of your will and integrity against the odds. That’s all that matters really, in the end. And what we leave behind. Remember, Beethoven went deaf. But his powerful creative mind and his mind’s eye was as keen as before. Syphilis killed him and probably drove him mad. So don’t get that. But keep writing.
You have a strong voice. I think you have something new in you. When it’s time, I really believe you’ll find it.
Do the best you can. You are loved and have a mission. You make a difference. As long as that’s true — go, go, go!
The book [Our Subway Baby] is much more than I expected, really. The artwork style is original and elegant. NYC looks like Disney. So sweet. I of course cried reading it. Nicely done. Such a journey. You tell it well. I hope this now being out in the world brings you some deserved satisfaction after the disappointments and frustrations. Kevin will one day read it to his children. You can be proud of yourself. A beautiful gift to your family, present and future.
[In response to a bad review of my play]
You have to remember with all this that you aren’t writing to please one or two people. You wrote a unique play exploring new subject matter, and it simply might not relate to everyone. You have something to say in it, plus you’ve worked your ass off to say it. You have done wonderful, literate, and thoughtful work. You must stand your ground here and believe in what you’ve made. Learn from the production, but don’t take these reviews too seriously.
You are indeed a stunningly gifted artist, designer, writer, parent, son, partner and friend. That’s a rave. And I love you very much.
You are a remarkable man. Stronger and better than I could ever be. You will overcome this. One way or another.
Sending you love and admiration from miles away. Thinking of the years behind. So many good days.
RANDOM ROGER
The world has gone bat-shit crazy. I’m exhausted trying to figure out what the hell happened. But we are all fucked.
We just need common sense. We’ve lost that in all things. It will take a generation or two to recover. I won’t be around.
I’m too tall to move to Japan. They stare at you like Big Foot, I’m told.
Oprah is like Big Foot. Timeless.
Tell Kevin, remember, it’s good to be tall.
I give up on the obvious lunacy we now live in. How did we get here? I still say it’s a slip in the continuum, and we’re in a different universe.
All good intentions aside, we are living in a fast-decaying civilization. Sometimes I’m grateful for my age.
As I keep saying, it’s clear we’re no longer in our universe. How to get outta here is the challenge.
There’s nothing brave about bad judgment. I think all the brilliant, important men of history who died of syphilis would agree.
Sex should stop at ejaculation. Then TV and snacks.
In my computer classes, one of [my students] would have a nervous breakdown every class or two. I would calm them down and say, “It’s okay. It’s just a Word document. No one is gonna die.”
I used to think that there were secret Star Chambers of Mason smarties that we never see keeping order in the world when they weren’t having orgies. But now I think there’s so much incompetence everywhere from those in charge and those who wanna be in charge, that’s not likely. Just dumb luck we’ve survived.
Joan Rivers died just in time.
Life is mysterious, predictable, joyous, and mean all at once, ain’t it?
When I wrote a book about my family’s story, I asked some friends to share their thoughts. I intended to include their responses as an afterword called The Village Speaks. Here’s what Roger wrote.
I came home from work and, as usual, clicked on the TV. I glanced at the screen to see someone who looked just like Danny being interviewed. Watching the footage repeat all day on NY1 was surreal. The odds of such a thing, and knowing the person involved, was hard to fathom. And at the same time, it gave me great pride that I did know such a person.
At the time, I thought it was a terrible idea for Pete and Danny to adopt the baby. I come from a land where unwanted pregnancies were the norm in young people. They almost always led to difficult and disappointing lives. Unplanned parenthood, so to speak, was never good news.
Once, I co-babysat with Chuck. I awkwardly held the teeny, tiny Kevin while sitting in the window overlooking Seventh Avenue. All I could think was “this is your front yard, little man. Some playground.”
I doubt that I have fully come to understand the impact Kevin has had on me. Time will teach me more as I watch him journey on. But for now, he symbolizes the notion that there surely is design in the boundless, cluttered universe. Whether simply a quantum mystery or “a busy God at work” is wisely beyond us. But, nevertheless, words like “random,” “chance,” and “accidentally” took on new consideration after his rescue.
Much has changed in the gay community and adoption since 2000. For Pete and Danny, it was a bit like Martha and Jonathan Kent coming upon a baby that crash-landed in a corn field, or the unnamed Pharaoh’s daughter who pulled baby Moses from the Nile. It has the flavor of mythology when taking in the events of the day, all of the story’s characters, and their ultimate destinies. Bravely becoming parents of this little discarded boy quickly focused unfocused lives and created a ripple effect with friends and family, and now by publishing this story, the world. Quite simply, everyone is better for it. Most importantly, it reminds us that life, in all of its messy ways and muddled days, can suddenly, and quite wonderfully, make complete sense.
Lucky me. I get to have a very small part in this grand, timeless tale.
Years ago, Roger put the a SHINE playlist on YouTube. Here are my favorite songs from the show.
2:22
3:14
2:04
3:06
2:54
2:34
2:53
3:38
4:14
3:29
In 2008, Roger composed and arranged an instrumental reworking of John Denver’s “Follow Me” for my play, Two Spoons.
On Roger’s birthday in 2009, Grant James Varjas, one of the leads in Two Spoons, released Roger’s song, Closer.
As I mentioned earlier, Roger touched many lives. Here’s a tribute to him by John Alban Coughlan. Roger had composed the score for his play, Of Lives and Leaves.
