It’s one thing to be a creative quadruple threat (film actor, stage actor, television actor, musician); it’s another thing entirely to excel as a quadruple threat for the better part of 43 years. From multiple Tony nominations—and wins—to starring roles on Fame and Treme, Michael Cerveris may be best known for his versatility as a thespian, but he proves just as formidable behind the mic on his long-awaited sophomore solo album, Piety. His sonic pedigree is unsurprisingly impressive, having shared the stage with the likes of the Breeders, Bob Mould, Teenage Fanclub and Frank Black. Cerveris will be guest editing magnetmagazine.com all week. Read his MAGNET Feedback.
Cerveris: I’m an animal person, primarily a dog person, but I’ve loved all kinds of animals since I was a kid. I know it’s going to sound unlikely, but I remember belonging to a reptile-of-the-month club as a boy. Once a month, a little styrofoam box would arrive in the mailbox, and inside would be a newt or a salamander or some other little creature who had been mailed to me from somewhere. They were sometimes a little dazed, understandably. Sometimes, they were a little dead. Understandably. But more often, they survived and lived happily (I hope) in the terrarium I made for them in my room, at least for a while. Years later, I think that memory was part of my motivation in buying a salamander and dubbing him Murray, the Pinball Lizard, giving him residence in my dressing room when I played Tommy on Broadway, and burying him (with a commemorative plaque, no less) in the wall there at the St. James Theater when he passed. As far as I know, his little lizard skeleton remains there still, to be discovered and confuse future archeologists.
And growing up, we had a family dog, hermit crabs bought on a Virginia Beach vacation, gerbils, hamsters and the usual fireflies caught in a jar on summer nights in West Virginia or tadpoles dredged up from the creek. For a long time, I thought I might actually become a vet rather than an actor or musician—until I realized that some of my time would inevitably be spent trying in vain to heal or cure dying beloved pets, and I didn’t think I had the heart to endure that. For years, I watched TV shows like Daktari (google it, kids) and Mutual Of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom and dreamed of working in an African animal study center or helping Jim tag the endangered rhino while Marlin Perkins watched from the safety of the jeep. Or, having eagerly soaked up Jacques Cousteau specials, I thought for a time that marine biology was going to be my calling. Until I realized actual marine biologists spend years learning a lot of science, and all I really wanted to do was sail on the Calypso and swim with the whales. But John Denver got to do that just by being a singer. So I adjusted my goals.
I adopted my first rescue dog in college—a short lived adoption when my roommates changed their minds about the idea, and I’ve never forgotten the shame and sadness I felt when I returned little Zen, the mini Doberman mix, to the local ASPCA where I’d adopted him. I have to believe he found a better, wiser human soon after. Years later, when I was a questionably wiser, but definitely older human, I adopted Gibson, the eight-week-old border collie mix who became my permanent sidekick for the next 16 1/2 years, traveling the world, living in every dressing room or hotel, listening to every sound check and being my most enduring relationship with a female in all that time. When she passed, it was five years before I felt ready to adopt again. But last August, I went to New Jersey to the northern home of Southern Paws Inc., a fantastic group that rescues animals from Southern kill shelters and transports them North to find happy new homes. Evangeline (Evie for short) was rescued near the Louisiana/Mississippi border, a freckle-faced Brittany spaniel mix. She took to city life immediately and loves hanging out at the theater and meeting fans at the stage door, but her bird-dog instincts get constant rekindling on our daily walks where she’ll freeze upon encountering pigeons on the New York streets or slow to a low slinky, stalking gait, unerringly sensing the presence of rats and mice.
Sometimes, I pause for a moment and think about what could have happened to Evie had the good folks at Southern Paws not chosen to devote themselves to the kindness of rescuing pups like her. And it’s in those moments that I’m reminded of an extraordinary organization I first encountered in the ’90s called Best Friends. The founders of the group found each other back in the turbulent ’60s, varied people from markedly different backgrounds and experiences, who wanted “to sort out personal conflict and live a better life.” Their unifying goal became Kindness, and applying it deeply and sincerely to their lives and their environment. “The founders of Best Friends believed that by relating with kindness and unconditional love toward the most vulnerable and unfortunate recipients of humankind’s irresponsible actions, animals, they were being consistent with their aspirations for society as a whole.” Yes, it was hippie bullshit on a glorious magnitude. But they followed through on it.
With no discernible skill or knowledge, no experience or expertise, they located a large parcel of land in southern Utah and set about literally building a sanctuary by hand to care for, rehabilitate or simply give a permanent home to the innocent animal victims of mankind’s neglect or disregard. They began in the humblest of ways to perform a simple act of kindness to the world around them, and in the decades since, extraordinary things have happened. The Best Friends Sanctuary covers some 20,000 acres now and is home to thousands of domestic pets, horses, livestock and other animals being cared for by dedicated staff, volunteers and tourists who find a working retreat amidst the striking vistas of Angel Canyon, Kanab, Utah. And the organization has grown exponentially and partnered with organizations nationwide to lead efforts to eliminate kill shelters and the problems that gave rise to them, as well as opening centers in L.A. and, recently, N.Y. I have yet to visit their Utah home and hope to someday soon, but I’ve been an avid supporter of the sanctuary and the work of those Best Friends for years. The simplicity of their guiding principle and their ability to take the idea of the Golden Rule and translate it into tangible action, remaking the real world in a better way, is inspiring and heartening. It’s nice to know that other kids followed through on my boyhood dreams. And in Gibson and Evie, I guess I have tried to, too.
Another photo after the jump.
