Mrs. Baez Brings Back Memories

Years ago my first husband and I created a show based on the writings of Richard Farina, who died in a motorcycle accident shortly after his first novel was published. He was married to Mimi Baez, who sent me lots of unpublished materials which I combed through to create the theater piece. For those of you who haven’t read my memoir, Richard Gere played Richard Farina, but that’s another story. The show had a try-out in Lenox, Massachusetts, under the auspices of Lyn Austin, and Mrs. Baez came to see what we had created because she thought it might be too upsetting for her daughter. Both were also concerned we would ‘get’ him, and Mimi, ‘wrong’ and that would be even worse. Mrs. Baez loved the theater piece, and said it felt eerie to her because the evening truly captured the essence of her son-in-law. The tone of it, the order of the numbers, both spoken and sung, embraced his spirit, she said. Mrs. Baez couldn’t believe neither of us had ever met him. I was really honored by her words, and found her genuine, funny, interesting and utterly beautiful I can still picture her sharing cantaloup with us on the floor of our little room in Lenox. We served it on paper plates–all we had–and she didn’t even blink. I don’t remember her first name, though I know she preferred we call her by that and not ‘Mrs. Baez’ but all these years later I still think of her that way. She looked very much the way her daughter does now, except that she had long silver hair. Remembering her also brings back memories of creating that first show with my husband, and what a joyous experience it was. Not just the words and music of Farina, which we both loved, but our ability to create an evening of theater with each other with such ease. He helped with reordering the poems, narrative and songs I chose to include; I made suggestions to him about the production. We each respected the other, and worked well together. Given that we later divorced, and had difficulty even talking to one another for years, it is really good to remember times like these, when we met Joan Baez’ mother and ate cantaloup with her on the floor of a little room in a country building in Massachusetts. There was a reason we married each other, there was love between us; working together was never a problem and it gave both of us pleasure. It’s good for remember what was good in a marriage that failed. I only wish it hadn’t been the death of Mrs. Baez that brought these memories back. I’m writing this in thanks for that. And she did live to be one hundred. If anyone deserved to live such a long and rich life, she certainly did.