Words About Jody

Jody is the only person I've known to eat chicken
bones and to bathe in the swimming pool. He persists
in my mind as an astonishingly genuine and emotionally
generous person. To me, personally and privately, he
meant a great deal more than is prudent to share on a
website. Jody is beloved.
-Brandy Parris

Jody was too kind for this world. I think his greatest
troubles arose because he couldn't understand that the
rest of the world is not as open and loving as he was.
He was my brother, and I did not try hard enough to
protect him.
-Ross Gard

Without a doubt, Jody was and continues to be one
of the biggest influences in my life, more than most
really know. That Joe Dokes smell, you couldn't miss
it if he was in the room or had been. Sharing dreams
together up in the hills of old Saratoga about becoming
mega rock stars, "oh jim/jermaine, don't worry, we
will...if you think Duran Duran was big..." He's clearly
left his mark on me and my life. I'm the M*A*S*H addict
and Giants fanatic many thanks to him! I'm forever
grateful, old friend, writing partner, bandmate.
-James Revell

What I remember about Jody was how he was surrounded
by rhythm. The rhythm of his peaceful melodic voice, slow
even paced walk, and his effortless and punctuated bass
playing. I remember writing songs together one hot afternoon
at his parents home and feeling so out of ideas, and both
needing to relieve ourselves, we decided to record ourselves
peeing in the toilet, hey we were still young teens, when
Mr. Friscia walked by the open bathroom door . . . that song
never made it public! I remember Jody's one liner sense of
humour, his open heart, and his love for others expressed
in his efforts to make relationships harmonious and loving.
He was a gentle and patient listener, great bass player and
songwriter, true pal, and felt often like a younger brother.
I will forever remember all those garage band rehearsals, gigs,
and your penchant for walking in any open door and diving
in any available pool clothed or not. I, like Ross, regret I did
not try to help him more. I imagine that like many, we did not
know how much he was suffering. I hope you are happy now
Jody, famous in heaven, playing bass and singing your songs
with the best of them. That's were you belong. It was the
rhythm that died . . . in Jody's walk, his music, and ultimately
in Jody's heart. Your rhythm is missed my old friend. Much
love to you.
-David W. Fauvre

I want to share how I remember Jody. It can be summed up
in the experience I had when Linda Klett called me with the
news of his passing. Afterwards, the only picture I had in my
head was of Jody's crooked smile. Then, over the Internet
connection to "The Broadway Channel," I heard "You've Got
to Have Heart" from Damn Yankees. That was one of the
MANY shows that I had the privilege of performing in with
Jody. And that is how I remember him. He had heart. His
physical heart may have failed him, but the "heart" that he
shared with those of us who spent time with him has changed
us forever.
-Mary Theresa (Capriles) MacDavid

I want to relate a memory, though I can't guarantee it will be
as funny to you as it is to me. There was a gig in Stockton.
Jody was driving that horribly beige diesel nightmare of a
Rabbit that he had. I was in the passenger seat contemplating
when to drop my acid in order to make myself the most helpful
"roadie" possible. John was in the back, madly memorizing
lyrics. (I think they were to Led Zeppelin's "Dancing Days,"
which are really funny if you say them as if you are very
impatient with someone. "You know it's all right; I SAID
it's all right...") I think we were late. Jody was driving about
51 MPH, and the engine was just wailing like a tortured . . .
well, diesel rabbit engine. Every few minutes, John's head
would appear between the front seats next to Jody, and he'd
say, very urgently, "Jody. Go SIXTY," and then he'd go back
to his lyric memorization. Jody's lips would tighten slightly as
his poor car wailed more desperately for about a minute. . .
then he would relax as he slowwwwwwly crept back down to a
lazy 51, and the car stereo became audible once more. Imagine
this cycle repeating all the way from Saratoga to Stockton.

I've always wished I could see a movie of our expressions
the day the Rabbit's back window fell out. We were just about
to exit (I think in Stockton again. Same trip maybe...?) when
suddenly we heard a kind of metallic-stretchy wrenching sound,
a wooshing, then one more wrench which was abruptly cut off
by much louder wooshing. There was a second or two of this
peaceful wooshing—in my memory it feels like that over-used
silent tableau effect in modern movies where everything stops
in mid-air for a high-tech, 3-D pan-around—and then we heard
a terribly surreal, distant crash, like someone dropping a tray
of china two rooms down the hall. We were very confused. It
was a priceless feeling, all that meaningless sensory input
followed by an inexplicable, directionless breeze. Jody didn't
even seem to consider stopping; he just kind of sighed.

Finally, a few more driving Jodyisms. Whenever we came over
a hill to reveal some sort of valley of picturesque grassiness,
Jody would say, "Look, it's the Shire!" This would often begin
a string of time honored "-ire" rhymes, but I prefer it as a
stand-alone. Whenever we came into view of the ocean, one
of us would say, "Land 'O Goshen, it's the Atlantic Ocean!"
which I always adored simply because, of course, it never was.

I think I'll stop there. There are a million of these, which can
probably only be enjoyed in print by those of you who can
imagine them in one of Jody's million voices. I'd love to hear
your favorite Jodyisms. It would be a shame to forget them...

We had so much fun.

Beep.

-Mike L. Miller