Like the Supefriends, only more than seven, and no monkey

"Did you murder my father?"

Monica's father was killed in 1982 by poisonous chemicals he was exposed to while working at Hughes Research Laboratories. This is one of only ten or so facts she knew about her father prior to a roadtrip this summer. The destination? Finding out who her father was, and what actually happened to him.

Her tale is presented in "Reading the Water," a one-woman show that ran for only two nights this week at a small theatre space in Manhattan. The story is one of tremendous courage; a willingness to confront the past, and to, as one of her father's coworkers put it, "open up a very dark closet."

Monica's father was a hero, and she is so very much his child. When he wasn't working he was a volunteer search and rescue diver, renown for his ability to find anyone, even in the deepest darkest waters. After he became aware of his poisoning, he fought to protect those with whom he worked and tried to change the health conditions at Hughes. Monica has been a fighter, an unparalleled, whirling dervish of activism, someone who cares tremendously for the well being of others since long before she danced into my life.


I could not be more proud of Monica than I was after seeing her show. To confront all that she did, to ask the questions she asked...a young woman searching for her father:it's both tremendously inspiring and heartbreaking all at the same time. This is an old picture of Monica and I - a picture she titled, "a pair of sad scientists."



I think something that really struck me about her piece was that I realized that there was no doubt in me as to whether or not the Monica I know would take on such a difficult quest. There's a scene where she's boxing with the Hughes corporate goliath, and I realized that this was the Monica that had always been there, even in quiet moments, just under the surface.

This all got me thinking about the rest of my friends. A motley, eclectic, and, at times, degenerate bunch of folks though they may be, they are all insistent on change. None among them is so contented as to be inactive or cower away from the world. Be it to make better, more meaningful art, to change unjust laws or social conditions, to fight corruption or any other from a host of mildly Quixotic charges, my friends do not back down or shy away. Spotted, sure, our relationships have been, but there will always be a communion of passion and restlessness. And I love them for that.