Pam's Story (A Eulogy)

By Gareth Branwyn

When I called Peter Sugarman, Pam's and my longtime friend, to tell him that Pammy had passed away, and how she had died, his response was: "She deserved a MUCH better ending to her story!" That really struck me and became a dominant theme in how I've tried to work my way through this tragedy. Pam DID deserve a much better ending to her story, and I decided I wanted to help make sure that she got one.

But as I thought more about it, and as I've seen how her expansive circle of fans, family, and friends have responded, I realized that Pammy's story is far from at an end. Pam did a lot of living in her fifty years on this Earth, and personally, and through her art, she touched many lives. As I'm sure for many of you in this room, her Guest Book on pambricker.com has been a huge source of comfort, and also something of a revelation. So many stories, expressions of love and loss and awe from so many quarters of Pam's life, from family and close friends, to musical collaborators from decades past, to London DJs who are just discovering her through Thievery Corporation. I was with her for 22 years, and I've learned new and touching things about her from these Guest Book entries. It really is an amazing testimony to her and to her endearing appeal.

And if you've noticed, there are two major threads that run through these postings: As an artist, she had untouchable, seemingly effortless, talent that humbled and inspired other singers, musicians, and audiences. And as a human being, she was a truly loving spirit. She had a smile, a kind word, a genuine embrace, and a laugh to share with just about anyone with whom she came into contact.

Anyone who spent time with Pam could tell that she was a shy person by nature, but she deeply loved people, she loved connectivity, and so, she overcame that shyness, to an impressive degree. It was a constant, daily struggle for her, but gregariousness almost always won out over reclusion. And that's, of course, one of the reasons why she loved music so much - it provided a structured environment, an expansive and expressive language, through which she could give voice to so many aspects of herself that she struggled to otherwise.

In thinking about the continuation of Pam's story beyond her death, I've thought about a number of ways -- storylines if you will -- in which she will go on. There are, of course, many others, these are just a few.

Pam as Musician

What can we say about Pammy as an artist that we all don't already know? She was, in the jazz parlance (and pardon me, church): "The Shit," the real deal. To know Pam as a musician was to experience the joy and inspiration found in the presence of a true artist. But for those of us close to her, it was also to experience the frustration of her often- limited reach. What the hell was someone THIS gifted doing standing on a metal box in the corner of a bar or in the window of a nearly empty restaurant? But it was a testament to Pam's professionalism as a musician that she always held her head high and belted her songs out, all the way to the back of the room, even if the only person there was a bartender thoughtlessly firing up a blender during a tender ballad. (Pammy was NO fan of blender drinks, let me tell you.)

We all live beyond ourselves, in the people we've touched -- in the memories alive in those we leave behind -- but artists have a unique way of living on and sharing themselves with the future. So Pam's story will continue through the amazingly broad range of the music that she left us. And in the global, electronic world in which we live, her music will have a permanent home in cyberspace, waiting there for future generations of music lovers to discover.

Pam as Teacher

As many of you know, Pam was a vocal teacher, both giving private lessons and as a professor of jazz in the music department at George Washington University. She was so proud of being a teacher. She truly loved it, and her students loved her. It was so moving to hear the outpouring of love, appreciation, and grief from her students at GW, and from her private students. I was struck at the memorial event at U-Topia, how most of the singers in the room were former students of Pam. I bet all of these singers would agree that they are much better off for having studied with her, and so, her teachings, her approach to the art of singing, will live on in their voices.

And I must take a moment to honor Pam as my teacher. I'm a writer, I became a writer after she and I got together, and I owe much of my success in that profession to her. In Pam's shyness, you might have been unaware of just how whip-smart she was, but she was so bright, so literate, and she had such an impressive knowledge of English and grammar. I rarely found a word that she didn't know, and when I asked her about one, she'd always look at me like: "C'mon, you Southern hayseed, you mean you don't know uxorious?" (Which means "excessively devoted to your wife," BTW, for you fellow "hayseeds" in the house.) She read nearly every word that I wrote, right up until the day we separated, and she always had the most brilliant (and gently-delivered) comments and corrections. As I go forward as a writer, you will always be able to hear whispers of Pam behind my words.

Pam as Communitarian

As most of you probably also know, Pam lived in the commune Twin Oaks in central Virginia for several years -- that's where she and I met -- and then we lived at Gesundheit Institute, Patch Adam's healthcare project here in Arlington, for ten years. So when I say "Pam as Communitarian" I mean this in the literal sense, but I really mean much more than that. I mean Pam's love and faith in the human community. Pam often struggled, from within her clinical depression, to find her love of life, but she always loved people, she loved groups of people, she loved communion, and she looooved to party. She never lost hope that the world could be a saner place if people would only use their intelligence to solve problems and could manifest their innate goodness.

One of the things that Pam was keen on was good manners, being polite to other people, always treating others with uncommon courtesy. She didn't do this out of some stuffy Emily Post quest for appearances, she did it because she thought it was the way you showed respect for other people. When Pam was in public, in the car, at the grocery store, in a restaurant, she was always aware of the people around her and the impact that her actions had on them. Increasingly, we each seem to float around in our own little bubbles, unaware of those around us. One of the greatest things Pammy taught me, and we in turn, have tried to impart to our son, was the value of always extending yourself into the world, and trying to be and to do good for the people around you, regardless how mundane the circumstances.

Pam as Wife

Obviously, this is a hard one for me. Pam and I separated two years ago. She had moved on with her life, as I had with mine. But we were together for 22 years, nearly half of our lives. I can't speak for her, but for me, it was a storybook romance that I never could have imagined possible. The one point I wanted to make here was about how Pam dealt with my arthritis. It's not easy living with a handicapped person, and it's not easy being one. In our entire life together, Pammy never made me feel ashamed or guilty about being handicapped, she never made me feel like I was less of a man, quite the opposite. You cannot imagine what a gift this was, and what a testament it is to her character. It speaks volumes about what a kind and loving soul she was.

She had such a huge impact on me, she truly became a part of me, and I will carry her with me until my end of days.

Pam as Mother

Pammy was an amazing mother. It was startling how she seemed to so effortlessly transition from being the bohemian musician to the devoted mom. In fact, after Blake was born, she never left the former behind, she figured out a way to do both simultaneously. She would be diaper-changin', upchuck-wipin' mom by day, and the elegant Jazz chanteuse by night. She cleaned up rather nicely. This was really a tough juggling act, but a true joy for her at the same time. She LOVED being a mother. It fulfilled her in a very deep way that even she was surprised by. We were blessed with a relatively easy to deal with child, so that helped, but it is still a wonder that Pammy pulled this off.

Pammy was a deeply loving mother. She always greeted Blake with the most blissfully loving smiles and flung-open arms. I remember wondering, when he was little, what it must be like to grow up inside such a cozy cocoon of love and familial happiness. It's kind of perverse to admit, but Pam and I used to talk about Blake as our little science experiment. We saw him as our own minuscule contribution to a nicer world; we wanted to raise one smart, kind, loving and morally-sound human being. It's not really for me to judge, but the experiment appears to have been a success -- I think our little Frankenstein turned out rather nicely.

Just as artists extend themselves through time by the persistence of their work, parents extend themselves through their children. In the end, I think that her precious son, Blake, is the most important continuation of Pam's story.

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I want to end my eulogy of Pam today by doing something outside of my comfort zone - way outside of my comfort zone. I'm going to sing you a song. It was such a gift to be married to a singer of such talent and beauty as Pam and to have her sing to me on occasion. I love to sing, but I'm not very confident in it, so I rarely sang back to her. She sang "One Hand, One Heart" to me at our wedding. At one point, we flirted with the idea of me singing the male part, but I was just too chicken. I didn't want to look like a fool - or to ruin our blessed ceremony. Over the years, I sometimes regretted that decision. So now, I want to send Pam off with a song -- I hope you'll indulge me.

The song I want to do is called "When You Cannot Find Yourself." It was actually written for Pam in 1979 by her longtime friend and collaborator Linda Worster. Linda had only met Pam a few times at this point, but had fallen in love with her, as most of us quickly did. She was absolutely awestruck by Pam, as an artist, and as a person. She heard through the grapevine that Pam had had a nervous breakdown and had left Boston. Linda had no idea where Pam was or what had become of her. In her panic over the idea that Pammy was in such pain, that Pammy was "lost" to her, Linda wrote this song. It was an attempt to reach out into the ether, find Pam, comfort her - to tell her that everything was going to be all right and that Linda was holding a good thought until she was able to find her way home. So today, I'm sending it out into the ether again, as an expression of my enduring love for Pam, and in the hopes that we will all sing her song, tell her story, for a long time to come.