Good-night, Sweet Prince

“Now cracks a noble heart. Good-night, sweet prince;  And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.”

I watched Adam Turck die more than 30 times, closer to 50 times if you count rehearsals. His character was killed at the end of Act I and I played the investigating detective in Act II.

On Aug. 2, the 35-year-old Richmond actor intervened in a domestic dispute while walking his dog in broad daylight. A 19-year-old pulled a handgun, shot Adam and turned the gun on himself. Two more senseless gun deaths in a nation that values guns more than lives.

Good-night, sweet prince;  And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.” — *The cast and crew of Dial “M” for Murder.*

Adam’s organs were transplanted, including his lungs, which I’ll come back to in a minute. As a helicopter carried his organs to save the first of eight people, his friends and family gathered for one of the largest honor walks the hospital has ever seen.

For more about Adam and his tragic death visit this tv station or read this lovely remembrance.

I met Adam earlier this year when the premiere professional theater in central Virginia cast us in Dial “M” for Murder.

I was acting in my first professional play and I was super nervous at the first rehearsal. Not only had I not done a play in nearly 25 years, I was also the oldest member of the cast, by decades. Everyone knew everyone else, and only after the show started did I learn that the other actors had extensive credits and awards, including Adam.

I met the other actors during the audition process, but didn’t meet Adam until he introduced himself with a handshake as he took a seat next to me. He had black nail polish, sculpted arms, and a commanding confidence.

Adam played a serial killer fatally stabbed in the back with scissors and I played the detective trying to unravel the crime.

I never read the first act and avoided seeing as much of it as I could, because I didn’t want first act facts to inadvertently or subconsciously influence my second act search for facts.

So I was absolutely stunned when Adam started reading the character with a stutter.

It was a bold, creative, idea that worked perfectly.

The conman character later dropped the stutter when an old acquaintance recognized him.

Sitting next to him as he pretended to read the mostly memorized script, I was blown away and knew I had to get a lot better in a hurry, if the second act was going to be nearly as good as the first.

For several weeks we passed each other in the parking lot, as he departed his rehearsal and I arrived for mine.

He called his character a “Princess Part,” because he got to swoop in, perform a few scenes, and go back to the dressing room where he worked on the lines for his next play.

Every night before the doors opened, Adam and Ashley Thompson would rehearse the fight scene while I looked on, awaiting my turn to walk the stage and get comfortable in the space. During the performance, I’d watch backstage as he chased her around the stage. She picked up a pair of scissors with one hand, used the other hand to pull the string on the gimmick strapped to him, the prop scissors would pop out of his back, and he’d slowly die.

Adam once remarked that if he ended his death spasms in the wrong position, he’d spend more than 10 minutes face down on stage breathing in the dirt of a filthy, antique rug.

Which brings us back to Adam’s lungs living on in the chest of someone new.

Good-night, sweet prince

A physical trainer, Adam was a specimen of heath. If the new owner of Adam’s otherwise healthy lungs wonders why they sometimes have an unusual cough, it could be because he inhaled an ancient, dirty, rug night after night.

I played a silhouette at the end of the first act, and would hold the backstage curtain for him as he ambled by. He’d pat my shoulder affectionately, scissors sticking out of his back. While he removed his overcoat and harness, we’d chat briefly, usually about the audience. I’d see him next again at the end of the show as he came out for his curtain call and looked back at me with his engaging smile.

For the last show I stood in the back of the house to watch the first act. He had shared his excitement when he and the director had independently determined his character was a cold blooded serial killer. And he was cold blooded. A sociopath on stage in a scene with another sociopath. Both Adam and Alexander Sapp were just amazing to watch. (I got to be on stage with Alexander in the second act and saw first hand why his award nomination was well earned.)

At the opening night cast party, Adam’s kindness was on display when he spent time speaking with my family and me.

During the run of the show I wrote about similarities between acting and our spiritual lives:

Professional actors strive to be real – to recognize authentic emotions within the words of the script and then attempt to reproduce those emotions in ways viewers recognize and respond to; we hope to make the audience feel something.

Adam was a professional actor who brought words to life. His quick and disarming smile gave energy and life to everyone he encountered. Adam made people feel things.

Now he is gone. All we have left are the memories of the feelings he gave us.

“And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.”