By Andrew Briedis
“I was never going to be Gavin Creel.” This is a line I use whenever I need the right words to explain why I quit performing. Like so many boys who were handed the lead role in the high school musical, I heard “What Do I Need with Love?” once and said, “I want to be that.” If only I took a moment to look inward at my own lacking abilities, but Gavin Creel made it look easy! And while I did manage to muscle my way through the role of Claude in college and one day audition for The Book of Mormon, that’s the closest I ever got to being Gavin Creel.
As with most of the world, I was blindsided by the news. And unlike so many who have gone before him, this one hit different. I didn’t know him, but I felt like I did. I wanted to say something about how influential he was, but it didn’t feel right to make it about me. How do you not make him about you when a small piece of who you are is because of him?
I’ll think I’ve seen everyone’s statements on this tragedy and then I’ll open Instagram and it’s a carousel of personal photos from Josh Breckenridge, a gorgeous tribute from Brooke Ishibashi singing “We’ll Meet Again”—friends I’ve had since we were teens looking up to this singular voice on a Broadway cast album, who are now in the throes of grief over their loss of that voice. I normally offer condolences when a friend loses someone they love, but what am I supposed to do, text every single person I know? Everyone knew him, everyone loved him.
I’m writing this on a laptop with a broken screen. A friend came over the day Gavin Creel died—she knew and loved him too, of course—and as she was arriving, my puppy got excited, tripped me, and I dropped my laptop on the floor. When I saw the long black bar slicing down the right side of the screen, all I could do was shrug. On another day, there would have been a big performance over this—I do still perform sometimes—but on this day I could not. It was a day we were all given a perspective on life that I wish we didn’t have to get.
My internet was overcome with stories of his kindness, his generosity, his activism, his insight, and all the other ways he was an inspiring, loving, wonderful person. And maybe that’s the best gift Gavin Creel gave us: A reminder of what we can be. Few will ever sing like he did, or come up with a fresh and surprising approach to Cinderella’s Prince like he did. But we can try to be as kind, as generous, and as good a friend as he was. That’s how we can be Gavin Creel.
