Catherine was fearless like none other, and she was game for any challenge you presented her with. This became clear for me when she was asked to learn cheerleading choreography for her role as “Coach-tress Quickly” in The Very Merry Wives of Windsor, Iowa in 2012. None of us on the “squad” had any formal cheerleading background, and so we were put through a bit of cheer boot camp taught by a local high school cheer captain. Catherine was a dedicated student, embracing and incorporating new terminology—“poms,” “bullets,” “blades.” She was a willing, joyous dance partner. And she was also an overachiever. She'd go home after rehearsal and would watch cheer routines on YouTube. Then she'd come back the next day showing off bits of choreography and asking if we might incorporate these various maneuvers into our routines. When many of us might shut off in the self-consciousness that goes along with inexperience, Catherine steps forward with panache and pride and exuberance. “I may not know it yet,” she declares, “but I’ll give it my best!”

—Miles Fletcher, Actor

Catherine was one of my best friends and I was lucky to be one of her (hundred) best friends too. We had the honor to care for her in her last year so there are many memories. When she called the funeral home to let them know she’d be coming, the poor young woman exclaimed, “Oh, I’m so sorry!” And Catherine replied, “No, no, it’s just death.” When she told me about the burial plot someone from the temple [Temple Emek Shalom, where she was the rabbi’s wife for many years] had gifted her, she was excited, because it was next to the Britt Festival, so when people came to visit her they could hear music. How she told the nurses they were doing just the best job and would say, “Thank you for being my nurse!” She was cast in Roe, and came to a workshop in her last weeks because she didn’t want to miss a thing, and she didn’t want to let anyone down. She came in a wheelchair with an oxygen tank. It wasn’t just “the show must go on!” Even a workshop must go on. She loved every minute of her work. 

A typical phone message: “Well, I’m calling from the airport, my plane is leaving at four. Then I have to do Guys and Dolls this evening. I’m going to stop at Market of Choice, do you need anything? I have a Pilates class in the morning but maybe we can talk before my matinee tomorrow? Give my love to your family! Oh, by the way, the chemo wasn’t too bad today, I’m a little tired but thank God for planes, you can nap!”

—Lisa Loomer, Playwright

One of the main things I remember about doing Dead Man’s Cell Phone with Catherine was that she played my mother and felt she was far too young. And because she was my mother I used to come to her with all my backstory about our home life: what is was like to grow up with her as a mom, etc. I especially liked telling her about inappropriate stuff like my character's first sexual encounters and where they took place in the house. She always pretended to be mortified, but I could tell she loved it.

—Jeff King, Actor

During You Can’t Take It With You in 1994, Catherine asked me to hang out with her young and observant daughter, Zoe. At the time, I was working with Jaqueline and Lea Woods at Ashland High School because they were athletes. Catherine said, “J. P., I want you two to hang out from time to time.” Catherine made me realize I could do something well with pre-teens and teenagers. That was her gift of love and charity.

—Josiah Phillips, actor

When Catherine first started working here in 1994, I was recently divorced. At the very first rehearsal during the first break, she came up to me and said, “I hear you’re divorced. Don’t worry. I’m going to get you a girl.” This was extra bold, because she . . . had just moved to town, and she didn’t know anyone. But, sure enough, she fixed me up on a blind date with her aerobics instructor. She thought that we were about the same age—I was 34 at the time. As it turned out, the young woman was just out of college! She was nice, but we had absolutely nothing to talk about. Catherine had been so confident that this was going to be a match made in heaven. It wasn’t. But her heart was always in the right place, and she was always wanting everyone around her to be happy.

—David Kelly, Actor

Every evening during Into the Woods, right after the big opening number—Catherine has just gone through about seven quick changes within the course of five minutes, and I’ve gone through a couple quick changes of my own; we’ve sung, and danced, and stuck the landing— we had a brief moment offstage to tidy our wigs and gather props before emerging back onstage for a short scene. After this scene, we would exit through the house, into the courtyard of the Elizabethan. Finally, in the safety and comfort of the Elizabethan’s gorgeous garden courtyard—huffing and puffing, sweating through our costumes in the summertime heat—we would take a moment to just breathe. And so, every single night, during this respite, I would dash to the lobby bar for a large cup of ice water. Catherine and I would then share this cup. It was our salvation. Cold. Pure. Sweet. Brilliant. Sometimes I would even pour it into her mouth, as her hands were busy holding onto Milky White’s cow head. “When we take the show to Beverly Hills,” she once joked between sips, “you’ll be fetching us a dry martini instead.”

I will never forget pouring the water into her mouth. I will never forget our ritual. I will never forget her wicked, bawdy, perfect sense of humor. I will never forget her hand, holding mine tightly, as we prepared for our next entrance, as I opened the lobby door and stepped through.

—Miles Fletcher, Actor

I was always struck by how attentive Catherine remained in the guise of irreverence. The day I moved into my new house, Catherine barged through the front door unannounced, tossing coins and other detritus in the foyer. “I’m just here to bless your new home,” she cawed. Then she paused, looked around and remarked, “What a small home!” I still don’t know if the ritual had any spiritual significance, or if she merely wished to be rid of the contents in her pockets, but someone had to attend to the blessing of a home.

  Any time circumstances demand I find a happy place, I need only recall her determination to learn the choreography for The Taming of the Shrew in 2013. Catherine was a hopeless dancer. Her eyes were so preoccupied with processing the choreographer's steps that they had no energy left to mind the wild spasms her tall body made as it attempted to keep up. And so she flailed and wobbled in place, like a leaning tower of Pisa newly gifted with the ability to walk on human legs. On the sidelines, those of us not dancing sobbed with laughter. Someone had to attend to the fear of learning something new.

  There are those for whose passing we wish the world, or as Auden implores, “all the clocks” to stop. Their very absence should arrest the motions of the earth. But Catherine was not one of those people. She infused the world around her with so much life, compassion, joy and silliness that for the world to stop would be to dishonor all of her guiding principles. Instead, for her, the world should be inspired to continue spinning, wildly, bravely, attentively and forever.

—John Tufts, Actor