danny peterson, who died unexpectedly this morning, was an actor and co-founder of the idaho shakespeare festival. i don’t know that in 1977, in the little hick town that was boise back then, he could have had any idea what it would grow into: 31 years later the festival has been an artistic home for thousands of theatre artists, giving many of us the chance to start our careers, providing the artistic nurturing we sought. and during all that time, danny p. was a fixture on ISF’s stage. he played sea captains and reluctant friars, mechanicals and merchants, drunkards and cowboy poets. he was antonio in twelfth night, my first show as an Equity stage manager. backstage he was mentor and role model to the younger actors and apprentices, dear friend and colleague to all.
danny had this relentless twinkle in his eye. he was always plucky, always had a cheerful word, a good story to tell. as an actor he knew his craft inside and out and wore it with the sort of confident, casual grace that only a true professional can. i had the good fortune of working with danny for four summer seasons at ISF early in my career.
when i’d go back to visit the festival, even years after i’d moved away, he’d be the first to greet me by name and give me a hug backstage, making me instantly welcome again, making me feel like ISF would always be an artistic home i could call my own. he was what made ISF feel like family.
the thing about danny is that he must have seen thousands of us come through the festival doors in his time: high school acting apprentices, college interns, young artists just starting our journeys, emerging and established artists seeking a break from the madness of new york or LA or graduate school. we arrived in may, and in september we packed up and went on to our next adventure while danny stayed behind, taught in the festival’s drama school and brought shakespeare into the classrooms of idaho public schools. and every year, when we returned, alumni and the new kids, danny was there at the first company meeting with a hug and a mischievous sparkle in his eye. after thirty years in the festival, all of us bright-eyed kids must have seemed impossibly naive, and we were a dime a dozen. and yet he made every one of us feel special.
after struggling through this, wanting to say something i can’t quite get at the heart of, i picked up my phone and saw i’d missed a call from my friend aaron. his message summed up what i was trying to say with the last four paragraphs: he was one of the good guys.
danny p was one of the good guys, and his time on this earth was far too short. he was one in a million, and he will be greatly missed.