Leaping

BY NICOLE SOFFIN, CORNELL STUDENT, 1984-1988, INTELLECTUAL PROPERTY ATTORNEY, NATIONAL BASKETBALL ASSOCATION; PART-TIME PERFORMER WITH NYC IMPROVISATIONAL COMEDY GROUP, NEW YORK, NY
I have decided that the mean age of the authors who have posted accounts on this wonderful website is decidedly too young, and so I write to contribute some insights from my days with Tony at Cornell. I was at Cornell from 1984-1988, during which time it was my privilege and pleasure to learn from, and to be directed and befriended by, Anthony Cornish. As I read the accounts of Tony’s more recent students, I am transported back to my days at Cornell – days when I felt the magic of knowing that I was in the presence of gifted and experienced professors, scholars and practitioners, and during which luxurious time it was my sole responsibility to learn from these gifted individuals. Anthony Cornish was such an individual. But I got more for my Cornell tuition than I ever could have imagined. In Tony, I also found a mentor and a lifelong friend.

Tony became such a part of the fabric of my Cornell experience that, truth be told, I cannot precisely recall the circumstances surrounding our first meeting. As I think about my time there, I cannot remember a time that I did not know Tony, and when I did not look forward with great enthusiasm to the hours spent outside of his class or the theatre, in his office, musing over department gossip, working on monologues, or selecting audition material. Tony provided more than the wisdom and guidance commensurate with his years and experience. He provided a brutal honesty which was borne not of insensitivity, but rather, of respect. Whenever I spoke at length with Tony – and I did so often – I got the distinct sense that he cared too much not to be entirely candid with me, and I quickly grew to know that his was an opinion I could trust, whether in regard to matters of the theatre, the heart, or life generally. Tony did not sugar-coat, he did not pander to anyone, and he always spoke the truth.

I remember one afternoon in Lincoln Hall with particular clarity. I was in Tony’s office, mulling over the question that seemed to consume my thoughts during my final months at Cornell – that of whether or not to make the leap and pursue an acting career. Tony asked me to close my eyes and to imagine myself 10 years later. He asked me focus on that image for a bit, to bring it into clarity in my mind’s eye. He asked me if, in the context of that picture, I could see myself doing anything other than acting. He gently told me that, if I could, I was not ready to make the all-consuming commitment that a career in the theatre required. When I opened my eyes, tears were streaming down my face, for the dreadful truth I discovered was that there were indeed other things I could see myself doing ten years hence. And Tony just smiled that broad, knowing, comforting smile. He told me that my gifts were numerous, and that this fact was something to celebrate, not lament. For Tony, the theatre was not about fame or glory – it was about making the world a more thoughtful and beautiful place. And he had the breadth of vision, and the humility, to acknowledge that no one contribution to that end is more valuable than another.

As the years following my graduation from Cornell went by, Tony and I kept in fairly regular touch, and, like many others who have posted their stories here, we often saw each other during his trips to NY. He kept me apprised of his theatrical pursuits – it seemed that whenever he was not teaching at Tufts, he was off directing Shakespeare in a tropical rain forest or some such place. And, when email became the prevalent mode of communication (oh my, I really am dating myself now), I delighted in his pithy yet poignant accounts of his travels and directing pursuits, of Linda and Simon, and of his communications with other Cornell alumni. Tony was the link among all of us. It was through him that I learned about the doings of many of my classmates and professors, and that I managed to revive friendships that had fallen by the wayside.

When I recently learned of Tony’s illness, I felt as though I were inside a snow globe that someone had vigorously shaken. Despite keeping in pretty regular touch, it had been over a year since Tony and I last corresponded, and I had just assumed that he was off on some exotic theatrical adventure, as usual. I spent much of that day in tears as I thought about this brilliant, vibrant man’s transformation into what sounds like a mere shell of his dynamic self. Tony touched my life in immeasurable ways. As I noted in trying to describe his impact to my boyfriend (to whom I very much was hoping to introduce Tony), Tony has been a compass for me since I first met him. His mentoring and friendship have meant the world to me, and I always felt recharged with a sense of peace and clarity every time we saw each other and caught one another up on our lives. Even during those times when we were not in direct contact, just knowing that he was out there made me feel – well – safer. And that will never change.

Maria Porter, Kate Levy, Paul Gutrecht and other Cornellians from this era may recall the annual tradition of white picnics along Lake Cayuga that we began, and in which it was our great joy to have Tony participate. Perched upon the rocks, bedecked in white suits and frocks and splayed out upon the blankets, we looked like a Chekhovian montage. Tony would sit back and quietly take in the sight, sipping his Merlot and engaging in playful banter with whomever would settle down beside him. Those are the warm memories of Tony that stay with me.

My love goes to Linda and Simon, whom I had the pleasure of meeting when they visited Tony at Cornell. May the great outpouring of love that accompanies these tributes be a source of comfort to them.