So recently I’ve been asked a few times about the dedication in the beginning of my book, given to Rand Hopkins who was a mentor to me in my writing from early on. He, my Uncle and my father were good friends dating years back in the Atlanta theater scene as they worked on such productions as “The Boy King”, a play about Martin Luther King’s childhood and several other plays in Atlanta during the eighties. My Dad had a sound recording studio in the basement, prior to his death, and this was where they recorded the scores for all of those plays.
http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0394259/
Rand Hopkins was a writer, an actor, and even a talented painter, and my Aunt still has several of his paintings. He was also a very jovial, loving man, who was one of the few people on Earth who could tell me good stories about my Dad after he died in 1989 of alcoholism, or suicide rather, but still when someone dies like that most of the stories take dark turns. Only a handful of people were able to tell me good things about my Dad, and he was one of them. A particular funny story involved my dad going outside to take a piss and coming back in screaming and yelling about a dog almost biting his dick off, and as Rand would tell the story he’d be in tears with the theatrics, and his laughter was a contagious sort, so I’d be in tears laughing about my dad’s antics. That was a kind thing of him to do, and I was grateful, then and now.
Shortly after my father passed, my mom allowed me to go to NYC with a group of kids that Rand would host, and we would visit all the Broadway Plays in New York City. What an adventure for a 12 year old. We would have a blast. My mom gave me a few hundred bucks spending cash, and I remember hitting Time Square and finding every arcade I could possibly find, and just spending hours and hours in them. Rand didn’t mind just so long as I made it back to the hotel before midnight or so. While we were in NYC we saw a ton of plays, from Phantom of the Opera, to Miss Saigon, Les Miserable, and even a few off broadway productions as well, including one in which we sat second or third row and Ralph Macchio from the Karate Kid was the lead actor. I remember watching it and marveling at the differences between plays and movies with the Karate Kid a few feet from me, remembering his lines flawlessly, but still so much more human than on the big screen.
As the years passed we lost touch, especially as my drug and drinking use accelerated. But at a few critical moments I would reach out to him and share with him my writings, and he would encourage me, and tell me I was talented and I should continue writing. He sent me a copy of the Writer’s Market around 1998, and then again in 2004, when we reconnected after I was cast, quite accidentally, in “Miracle on 32nd Street” due to Gwen’s insistence. That’s another story you can find in the book. It was just a few weeks after my mama had died of cancer, and Gwen had left me for San Diego. I was withdrawing from all opiates and doing my damnedest not to kill myself drinking, or at this point, the way my father had gone. We talked briefly one night about a month after my mom, and he said something to the effect of “Live out your dreams JB, because life is short and you just never know when you might get run over by a bus. Write a book about everything you’ve gone through, because you’ve gone through a lot, and it will help you heal.” Literally a month later Rand Hopkins died suddenly in his sleep. I dropped out of that play, unable to contain my drinking binges, and completely incapable of showing up to anything on time or with any kind of consistency, but because of that play, and the people at the play house I heard about Rand’s death, and otherwise, I doubt I would have ever even heard. Funny how life works out like that.
I wasn’t invited to the funeral. Or maybe I was, and they just couldn’t get a hold of me. That’s the predicament of being a black out drunk, it’s hard to blame folks for lost invites, but the significance of that man, his words and his sentiment was never lost on me. He believed in me as a writer, and because he was an award winning writer himself I believed in him. If anybody else had said it I wouldn’t have believed them.
He had awesome connections and friends, and I sometimes wonder if I could reach any of them, but I know he knew Michael Jay Fox and also helped out Kenan Thompson who was also from my hometown of Atlanta, GA, early on in his career, though I’m not real sure the extent or depth of either friendships.
Still, I wish he’d been here to see my book launched, and could have helped me a little to promote it, and more than that, to tell me what he really thought. The good die young it seems. I suppose I should rejoice that I had him in my life as long as I did, and be proud that I did complete the project.
I dedicated the book to him because more than anyone else, his encouragement and faith in my writing meant the absolute most to me over the years. He was a good friend and I miss him much.
-Jared Bryan Smith
JB Smiths Blog - Author @ books4free.com 