There are some people whose spirit seems too enormous for them to die. Whose largeness of personality and unshakeable perseverance must surely be an impenetrable shield against anything or anyone that would cause harm.

That was Dewey Oriente. My drama teacher starting at age 14. My director in more school and camp productions, concerts and cabarets than I could ever count. My mentor as I sought to pursue my dreams in musical theater (as an actor first – I only started regularly doing musicals because he got me addicted); my colleague, as we began to share many of the same students, and worked together to maximize their growth and development; my advocate, as he passed my plays and songs along to people he knew who might want to produce them; and above all, my dear, dear friend, who made sure I knew I was seen and appreciated, and who believed in me even and perhaps especially in moments when I didn’t believe in myself.

In my senior year of high school, I had just finished directing and performing in “Tick, Tick, Boom!” – an autobiographical musical written by Jonathan Larson, the creator of RENT. Having just played my hero – a man who was also taken from us long before his time – I found myself doubting whether I could pursue a career in both composing and performing. Because my time here might be limited too, and everyone I had ever heard of at the time needed to choose between one or the other. I went to Dewey with this crisis – this need to choose between what I loved the most (performing) and where I felt like I could have the most impact (composing). And I’ll never forget what Dewey said to me, in light of my “Tick” production:

“Michael: If there is anything you have just proved, to me and to everyone, it’s that you can accomplish absolutely anything you set your mind to. You don’t have to choose anything: you can do it all.”

I’ve lost that faith in myself over the years, as I have lost so much of my physical ability to Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome. But whenever I hear my own inner-voice of self-doubt and self-criticism, I hear Dewey’s voice in my head, telling me to keep going. I pray that his words and voice remain as clear in my memory as they are today, 19 years after he said it.

Dewey was the most incredible drama teacher and director you could have ever asked for. He could be hard on us at times, but we always knew it was because he believed in us and knew we could do better. He would not rest – and he rarely did rest anyway – until we had become the best performers we could possibly be. Our high school productions were renowned for being at a professional level, and there are dozens of us who have made our careers in theater because he taught us to excel.

Dewey taught us that with hard work, we could be or do anything. This is the man that made us start tap dancing lessons in October to prepare for a show in May, all so that we could perform the original Broadway choreography to 42nd Street. Which we DID. Do you know how crazy that is?? We were a bunch of white Jewish kids. We were not known for our dancing. But Dewey told us that we didn’t need to already be great to become great; we just had to work hard. There is talent, and there is skill – and one doesn’t work without the other. We call talent a gift, and rightly so – but it is also a responsibility to be the best possible version of ourselves. Dewey demanded nothing less – and from each and every one of us, he got it.

One last story. In 2019, Dewey appeared with his husband Tony (one of the most beautiful, kind, and generous souls I have ever had the privilege to know and love) on the game show “Deal or No Deal” with Howie Mandel, and may well have been the most beloved guests in game show history. During his introduction, Dewey recounted Plato’s theory on the origin of love – that before we are born we exist as one circular being, but then get separated into two at birth and spend our lives looking for the other half of ourselves. To him – and to all of us cheering them on in the wings – that was Tony.

I was so moved by that story. Partly because the love that Dewey and Tony shared was a role model to us all. And partly because I suddenly remembered Dewey telling me that story when I was just 17 years old, after I became fascinated with Plato as the subject of my first original musical, “Eclipse” (which Dewey was the first person to put songs from onstage – the first time my work had ever been publicly performed for anyone; yet another milestone that he brought into being). Hearing that same story 15 years later and remembering him telling it to me back in room 14 of Akiba Hebrew Academy filled me with so much emotion. And so I did what I always do when filled with that much emotion – I wrote a song.

The song was called “Part of Me / Part of You,” and I wrote it for Dewey and Tony. To honor them, to show them how much I loved them and their beautiful relationship, and – in my dream of dreams – for them to sing together one day. Which they were scheduled to do (with me on piano) at the annual drama department fundraiser Cabaret on March 12, 2020.

It was my first event to be cancelled due to Covid. And since Dewey’s kidney failure was brought on by multiple violent bouts with Covid early on, I never got to hear them sing it together. I never will. That remains one of my greatest regrets from the whole pandemic: to hear Dewey sing my music – music that he had inspired me to write in every way a person can – would have been one of the most fulfilling experiences of my entire life.

But I offer my demo of that song now (with me singing both parts of the duet), accompanying this video I made from some of my favorite pictures of Dewey over the years. I hope you’ll listen to it and enjoy it, and that you will remember the hard-working, passionate, beautiful man that I made it for. And Tony: I pray that you may find comfort and solace in remembering how passionately Dewey believed in this idea of the immortality of love, and in his love for you. Because there is one line in this song that I keep coming back to, with a smile and a sob:

“And if I ever lose you, I will find you once again.”

Rest in peace, Dewey. You changed thousands of lives, and your work continues through us – your students, family and friends – as we remember you and share the many lessons you taught us with our own students and children. Your legacy lives on in the hearts and minds of every single heart, mind, and soul you touched – and as devastated as I am right now, I smile through my many tears to know that I was one of those lucky people who had the privilege to be your student and friend.