The expression “I’ve got your back” is one of great support. I first learned this early in my work career when I worked in consulting. It was never a good practice make a colleague look bad in front of the client, and fellow consultants would have someone’s back – they would try to smooth the situation, and deal with it later on out of the client’s purview. Over the years it evolved to where co-workers or managers would purely support you. I have always been aware of who these people have been and have greatly appreciated their support.

This expression also came up several years ago when I was active in improv comedy. The idea behind improv is not to make jokes rather to “build and heighten” a story, to “yes, and” your fellow performers on stage and support them. It is through this that the funny comes out and the humor comes to life. Just before I and my fellow improvisors – whether the entire troupe we called Blue Shampoo or just a few of us – hit the stage, we would always give each other a hug and tell each other, “I’ve got your back.” It was a reminder to them, and most importantly to ourselves, of what we were about to do.

One shining moment when someone truly had my back was a short scene between myself and another improvisor I remember to this day like it was yesterday. As many say improv is “throw-away” comedy, for the reasons I will retell here this moment was so memorable.

See What I Saw

One night myself and a couple of members of my troupe, Linsey and Christopher, decided to sign-up for “barprov.” As you might guess by the name, it was improv at a bar – we would perform on stage at the back of a bar in Chicago on a week night when there normally wasn’t a band playing. We would perform for free in exchange to practice our craft. The audience was mostly other improvisors, and the bar made out from our consumption of libations over the course of the night.

When it was our turn, we did a number of short scenes – sometimes it would be all 3 of us, sometimes 2 of us. When we got as far as we could with a scene, one of us would shout “scene” to end it and we would mix it up. Occasionally if a scene was going nowhere one of us who was off-stage could also shout it to keep the night moving.

On one change of scene it was myself and Linsey on the stage. He turned sideways and looked at me, and I turned and looked back at him. Linsey then swung around one of his legs and put it back down, at which he gave me a look with a raised eyebrow and a slight nod. I took this as a cue to do the same, which I did. Many times in improv we would let someone take the lead, not necessarily knowing where they were going. After I swung my leg, Linsey then squatted down, giving me the same gesture as before. So I squatted down, and as I did, Linsey stood up. Getting that same nod again, I stood up and he squatted down again.

Then it hit me... we were on a see-saw!

What I don’t remember from this scene was the dialog, but I recall it had nothing to do with being kids nor an acknowledgement of the see-saw. We continued the scene until one of us called it and we continued along with our time on stage. Afterwards however, we were ecstatic at how the scene turned out and all of us were hugging and laughing. We were on a see-saw – it was brilliant! As we often would critique our performance and highlight the positive, we couldn’t stop talking about the see-saw. And it wasn’t just that night – the see-saw would come up time and time again. For me it was a pivotal moment – it was a great and funny scene, but it was also the epitome of Linsey having my back, yet pushing me forward as an improvisor. It was a highlight of the time I was active in improv.

I have been thinking about the see-saw scene again recently as I got word that Linsey Falls died late last year. It was a complete shock to me and others very close to him, especially Christopher Donaldson, the other improvisor whom we were performing with that night for barprov. The 2 of them became great friends from improv and for years performed together including as The Gentleman’s Follies, where they played time-traveling vaudevillians. Yes, it was as funny and enjoyable as it sounds.

Sadly I hadn’t been in touch much with Linsey in recent years, occasionally connecting over social media. He was a member of the company at Playmakers Laboratory, which was called Barrel of Monkeys when I was in Chicago, and it was through knowing him that I was asked to serve on their board of directors which I proudly did for 2 years. Though it was infrequent, whenever we did connect it would be like old times, and I look forward to that reconnection someday in that better place where he is now.

There was an outpouring of love and thoughts about Linsey on social media, and a tribute to Linsey was written in the Chicago Reader. Christopher is quoted in the story along with a photo of the 2 of them. As a result of this sad news I reconnected with Christopher, a brilliant actor, writer, improvisor and human being in his own right. Our exchanges were about a man who had a lasting impression not only on ourselves but on the Chicago theater community as a whole.

I recall one night at a Chicago bar after a practice or show and the topic of fame came up in the conversation among our troupe. For myself, improv was a creative hobby but for the rest it was their calling, especially as many like Linsey had moved to Chicago to do improv. I remember Linsey saying that he didn’t want to be famous, rather he wanted to be known in the improv and theater community. To this he was more than successful, and Linsey Falls will be dearly missed.

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This is from The Hot Iron, a journal on business and technology by Mike Maddaloni.

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