John Gage -- Biographical Notes
Grass-Roots Guru
By Jeffrey Lee Puckett -- copyright The Courier-Journal
Feb. 12, 2000
John Gage navigated the huge purple-and-green head of Medusa, which lay on its back and stared unblinking at the ceiling; then he scooted past what looked like remnants of a castle's wall.
"The place is a mess," he said, a bit ruefully, "but it can be cleaned up."
Gage was in the lobby of the old Kentucky Theatre, its rooms piled with years of stage props and random junk and layered with dust. It was indeed a mess, but Gage clearly saw two things: What had to go and what would take its place.
The first part is easy. Old stage props, including Medusa? Gone. Makeshift stage, with its corners that don't quite square up and sloppy paint job? Outta here. Stacks of building material left over from who knows what? Someone will haul it away.
But what will take its place?
That part isn't so easy but is much more energizing to Gage, a man fueled by dreams of a world where people of every racial and societal background collide over ideas and art, not anger. If you think that sounds hopelessly hippie, you'd be right. Gage would even agree, except for the hopeless bit.
The Kentucky Theater Project, led by Gage and his life companion, Jeanette McDermott, is designed to turn the theater into a space that serves the Louisville arts community on a grass-roots level. If you need a space for a play, or your band wants to be heard, the project will give you a chance.
It also is a fitting metaphor for Gage's life.
Since arriving in Louisville 33 years ago, Gage has been compelled to instigate change through public service, often using music as his tool. He's been a schoolteacher, folkie, fund-raiser, environmentalist and activist -- always with one eye toward bettering his community.
His many causes have been supported by hundreds of generous souls, such as when George Stinson, the owner of the Kentucky Theatre, donated the building on Theater Square to the project, but just as often Gage has been on his own.
Gage's compulsion -- and that's the only word that fits -- seems a part of his fabric.
"I knew from the time I was 9 years old. Maybe it was growing up in the church and having a passion to serve. It was everything I learned in Sunday school, I guess," Gage said, laughing.
"I'll tell you what it was. It was a sense of need, and it's expressed everywhere whether you're talking about human need, the environment, all of creation, the critters and the people, the rocks and the hills, the streams. All those are real important to me, and what I saw was tremendous need where people are beaten down, and the opportunity to try and help rectify that has always been compelling.
"I have a strong and powerful belief in the potential of people."
Did we mention that Gage is also a minister? Or maybe you figured that out.
The big payback
Never money-rich, Gage has instead spent his time and energy -- several fortunes' worth, it seems -- on non-profit enterprises. These days Gage is almost always compensated for his time and efforts through Kentucky Arts Council grants or simply paid gigs, but the hours-to-pay ratio isn't the greatest, and he still tosses out the occasional freebie when friends call or the situation warrants. At best Gage's career is a break-even proposition, cash-wise.
You may know of him because he took your child on a field trip to Otter Creek Park, or maybe you heard him at the Phoenix Hill Tavern years ago. Most folks remember his as the warm voice emceeing the "Louisville Homefront Performance" radio series, a monthly broadcast on local public radio for 10 years. From 1984-94, the non-profit "Homefront" featured regional and touring acts, with Gage leading a small group of volunteers (as were many of the bands). It ended shortly after he stepped down as leader.
Gage and McDermott hope to begin the Kentucky Theater Project with an April 15 concert followed by an official grand opening in July, but they're still looking for grants, money from local government and, as always, volunteers.
Gage is intimate with volunteerism. There was a time when he could be counted on to perform at and/or organize any event that caught his attention, nearly always for no pay.
"I'm a sucker for a mission," he said.
So the question is: What is his reward (heaven or hell notwithstanding) for more than 30 years of community service?
Gage, a painstakingly self-aware man rarely without a considered response, paused, and you sensed one of his famously analytical responses was on its way. Then he stopped.
"I get goose bumps," he said suddenly, satisfied.
Gage then told a story about a program he'd directed at several schools, where he teaches students to write and perform their own music as an alternate means of self-expression. One boy wrote what Gage thought were pretty decent blues lyrics, so they worked out some music and performed it together at an open house with Gage on guitar and the boy on drums.
"At the end of that show he came up to me and said, 'Tonight was the first time my father ever told me he was proud of me.' That was a payoff, a big payoff. That was just stunning for me. I don't think I created that, but I think I had a little hand in it, a little piece."
The Kentucky Theater Project should offer many more chances for goose bumps.
"Louisville Homefront" will be revived as "Kentucky Homefront," with an emphasis on music from around the state as well as Louisville. Again, Gage said, it's about building a larger, more integrated, community. Small theater groups will have a space with 200 seats, a concession stand and a large stage.
A small space to one side looks like a fine spot for an art gallery, Gage said, and the Musicians Emergency Relief Fund may have its offices there, an idea that thrills MERF president Londa Crenshaw.
"He has a lot of integrity, personally and musically," said the veteran performer. "When he stepped away from 'Homefront,' it pretty much dissolved because they didn't have that leadership, that fired-up, stoked-up, believe-in-it leader."
One particularly exciting project idea would have teen-agers organize, write, stage and perform an entire production, from advertising to the final curtain.
It's typical of Gage to include youth so prominently, said Dan Orman, principal of Buckner Alternative High School. Gage has been the unofficial artist in residence at the Oldham County school since it opened five years ago, and Orman said that the students there, many of whom were considered troublemakers at other schools, have been impressed by Gage.
He staged his music-writing workshop there too.
"John spent weeks and weeks working with students, many of whom had no musical experience," Orman said. "They wrote songs, sharpened skills and then had a concert. In fact, he did such a great job that a lot of people came in from watching a baseball game to hear the concert. It's been a year, and the kids are still talking about it.
"There is not a better person, educator or entertainer. The man is gold in my book."
Gage and God
For all of its many aspects, Gage's life -- and lifestyle -- can be traced directly to his childhood in Oklahoma, which began in 1945. Growing up in a lower-middle-class family relocated from the country to Oklahoma City suburbs, Gage was immersed in old-time religion, bombarded, really, by the tenants of Christian faith. It would profoundly affect his thinking.
He was licensed to preach at age 16 -- "I've been performing all of my life," he said -- and graduated in 1967 from Oklahoma Baptist University, where he had achieved some fame as a member of a folkie trio. He came to Louisville later that year to attend Southern Baptist Theological Seminary and found a new home that he's never left.
Gage also found himself facing some tough questions. As he grew older he began to sort through religion as one would sort through a bushel of ripe tomatoes, picking what's good and ripe and leaving what feels old and bruised. It wasn't always a happy process, and he ultimately discovered that what he found important about Christianity wasn't shared by many of his peers.
"Was Jesus virgin-born?" he asked. "I don't know and I don't care. I doubt it. How could that happen? But that's not even what the story's about. We miss the point when we worry about that.
"Theologically, I'm definitely about as far away from my Baptist upbringing as you could be, but some of those basic principles, those basic stories, the truth that's imbedded there, have been sort of a beacon for me that's never really dimmed."
When Gage tired of "dancing" between what he felt was important and what was expected of him, he left his ministry at a Pekin, Ind., church for a career in social work. There he was able to, literally, practice what he preached.
"People in drama talk about the through-line, what is the thematic unity for any presentation . . . and for me my theme is the ministry, and I don't shy away from that," he said. "I don't put it out front all of the time because you don't need to. You just do what you do.
"I see myself in the context of a lifelong ministry. Social services, arts -- it all coheres. All of these are reaching out to build community, to offer comfort and healing, and sometimes discomfort . . . because sometimes part of a ministry is a destructive voice, to say that something is wrong. . . .
"Music is right at the heart of all of it. You know how people say you need a mission statement? Well, my mission is to bring people and communities together, and my tool is music. If you distill it all down until you get the final nugget, that's it."
Gage arrived at his mission statement after a number of adventures. He ran the Neighborhood House in Portland and a halfway house in an old YMCA building. He directed a federally funded Jefferson County school program for a while and hated it. He finally retired from full-time social work in 1975, taking up music as a member of Country Folk, later the New Country Folk.
For three years the New Country Folk played all around the region, recording an album, until Gage began teaching at Brandeis Elementary. He stayed with the Jefferson County Public Schools for 18 years, but not always in the classroom.
Gage was known for integrating music with his lessons, often in the context of teaching environmental issues during outdoor classes. For a while many of his passions co-existed -- he was given a job that allowed him to take classes on outdoor excursions, many at Otter Creek, where he used music and nature to educate students.
He took that approach indoors in 1990 as manager of organizational development at Gheens Academy, which works with teachers and administrators of Jefferson County Public Schools to sharpen their skills. All the while he kept "Louisville Homefront" on the air, often through sheer willpower.
Then his life was rudely interrupted.
The end?
While going for a walk in Metcalfe County on a nice afternoon five years ago, Gage suddenly found himself slowing, going slower, kneeling and finally lying in a ravine, his straining heart considering early retirement. Gage was having a heart attack but he could still think clearly. He wanted to shout for McDermott, and felt as if he could, but all he could manage was a whistle -- although one that contained a sufficient amount of alarm to call back McDermott, whom Gage had sent ahead when he had tired.
"I never thought I was going to die but I knew I had to get straight to a hospital," Gage said.
McDermott hauled Gage up and got him back to their car. A helicopter ride to Louisville followed and then Gage, for the first time in many years, stopped. He did nothing. No teaching, singing, marrying or burying. He and McDermott went to the East Coast for a spell, where Gage spent considerable time staring at the ocean, always a reliable muse, and rethought his life.
It turned out that he liked it, but with qualifications. He retired from the school system and focused once again on making music for a living. He's also learned that it's OK to ask for help -- even when a lifetime of doing everything yourself suggests otherwise. He hasn't slowed down much, even though his heart is 35 percent shy of a full load, but 65 percent has proven enough that Gage took himself off disability years ago.
"I didn't want that to be the last word on me: disability," Gage said. "I'm not faster than a speeding bullet, and I certainly can't leap tall buildings. The reality is that sometimes I need help carrying a speaker, and that's all right."
There are many people around Kentucky who would argue the point about not being a speeding bullet. They would argue long and loud and with much waving of arms. It might be the boy with the newly proud father, or maybe a musician who heard his or her voice on the radio for the first time thanks to "Homefront."
But the point is this: They would argue because somewhere, sometime, for whatever reason, John Gage gave them goose bumps.
by Jeffrey Lee Puckett
Louisville Courier-Journal
February 12, 2000
Kentucky Theater Project
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