My Friend Jepp

There are people in your life that form who you are, a friend, a parent, a sibling, a mentor, or a teacher. Sometimes its is when we are challenged the hardest that we become a new creature, a better creature. I have had all the above in different forms, from family to colleagues, parents, and aunts and uncles to friends and confidants. These people come and go from my life, always challenging me and me better. But there is one who has played every part that I just listed, often on the same day and sometimes the same moment.

It was 1990, there was talk of something happening. I had only just made a bunch of new friends. It was more friends than I knew what to do with. For the shy kid, I had been having a bunch of people that not only seemed to like me, but I could relate to as well. All this excited and overwhelmed me. They kept asking if I was going to audition.

I didn't know, would I audition? My brother was going to audition that I was sure. I had envied the plays he done from the audience in previous years. But I was too young to participate. But now, I had other obligations that I wasn't sure would allow me to join in. But I wanted to very much.

I worked out the issues with my other obligation and made the leap to go with my new friends to the audition. I tried to show that I could do things as well as my older brother, who just had a knack for music and acting. But I knew that my efforts didn't come out of me the same way I imagined they would, I was sure that I would not be cast.

Little did I know in this struggling theater program, being a guy was mostly all that I needed—a warm body with all the right physical parts. And since I had a little dance training when I was younger and could carry a tune, albeit a little flat tune, I was cast in the chorus. I loved it, but I was looking for more.

The rehearsal schedule was posted,  I was not needed every day. Somedays were music rehearsal, some days were dance rehearsal, but other days were only the scenes for the people with spoken lines. I didn't care; I just wanted to be around any of it. So without thinking about it, I showed up every day. I finished school and went straightaway to the auditorium. After rehearsal, I didn't want to leave, so I would hang back and talk to some of my new friends. Something I learned that year is that theater people love, they accept, and they include. I needed all three. But as the kids would peel off and head home, there was always one guy who was left. Who was this guy?

His long hair dangled unto his shoulders, but the top of his head was baren. As one comedian once noted about his own hair, it was as if the hair had just slipped off the top and slid down the back resting on his shoulders. He always seemed to be carrying something substantial, or building something, or fixing something. The man had four legs, really four legs. I would see him carrying ¾" plywood, and I could count one, two, then three, and four, yes four legs. After some time, I realized the other two legs belonged to his daughter.

When you go see a musical, everything you notice is handled by the director, the music director, and the choreographer. When you leave, you always discuss how beautiful one song was, or that one scene was particularly moving, or that was a hard dance that was masterfully performed. But the song would not be heard, without microphones, the scene would not have touched you without the lighted set to establish mood, and the dance could not be performed without the stage.

On Broadway, there are teams of workers, craftsmen, and artists that deal with everything that is not acting, singing or dancing.  There are set designers, lighting designers, technicians, stage crew, Stage managers, costume designers, and many more jobs that make the magic of what we call theater. But in our little theater program, most of those jobs were done by one guy with four legs. I never wanted to go home, so I stayed. But you couldn't just wait and watch I was asked to join in.  I realized that the other set of legs was tied to an adorable girl, so that was a plus.  And there was always something to build, paint, or screw, cut, level.  I was never turned away, I could stay as long as I wanted.  And after a few hours, another person with four legs would appear.

This was my introduction to Brent Jepperson (Jepp), his wife Penny Wheelwright Jepperson, and his two daughters, Mandy and Kristin Jepperson McNeil. A family that, over time, seemed to adopt me. Which was weird because I had a massive crush on Mandy. But incestuous feelings or not, they loved me.

My association with Jepp and his family has been as significant to me as the association I have with my genetic family. And often with the same ups a down that accompanies any family.

But Jepp was always more than family, he is a mentor and a friend. He never told me what I HAD to be, much like Mr. Rogers, he still accepted me exactly how I am. He did, however, present choice of what I could be. He taught me that showing up to work is the hardest but most valuable part of changing one's situation. Sometimes showing up without having a clue how or what you are getting yourself into is the sweetest kind of ignorance. The more I showed up to help, the more part in that particular musical opened up.

As one fellow chose one thing over showing up to rehearsal, I was given his small speaking part. As new situations arose that needed someone to jump in, I was there. And I was taught new skills, offered new opportunities, and told that anything I could think of, that I was willing to put blood sweat and tears into, I could achieve.

That principle has guided me for the rest of my life. Show up, be willing to work, and learn, and people will give you the opportunity you seek. You can be a shy kid and learn to become the confident performer. You can be a distracted kid and learn to create your own worlds. You can be a screwup and discover that you have value and worth. You can be a misfit and find somewhere to fit in.

And I am not only talking about me. This man of all things behind the scenes was a teacher all day long. He was a teacher that was pretty good for 90% of his students. But one that saved the lives of the other 10% by teaching them these lessons. I know some students turned their whole life around because of the lessons Jepp taught them. Heck, that was me.

Now don't get me wrong; it was n' easy and straightforward. He challenged me, pushed me, laughed with me, cheered me on, and yelled at me to get my act together. But he did everything with passion. I thought he was building a theater program, I learned later that he was making people. He tried two different times to create his own theater music venue business, and by the standards of the world, they both failed. But he built people, that is what his true calling has been.

There is a scripture I love from the LDS Doctrine and Covenants that sums all of this up:

15 And if it so be that you should labor all your days in crying repentance unto this people, and bring, save it be one soul unto me, how great shall be your joy with him in the kingdom of my Father!

16 And now, if your joy will be great with one soul that you have brought unto me into the kingdom of my Father, how great will be your joy if you should bring many souls unto me! (D&C 18:15-16)

And maybe what Jepp does do doesn't fall into the classic interpretation of this scripture. He saves people.