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ILLUSTRATION BY MATT HARMON

essay, she began drinking and smok-

ing heavily. Then, in 1974, while her

brother and his family were on sum-

mer vacation, she packed up her things

and penned a few letters to family and

friends, begging them to “let me go. Let

me be if I can. Let me not be if I can’t …

Human society fascinates me and awes

me and fills me with grief and joy; I just

can’t find my place to plug into it.” After

sending the letters, she drove off once

again, leaving Ann Arbor behind.

This time, no one knew where she

was heading. Her final what-if.

Her brother assumed she commit-

ted suicide. Knowing his sister, he

thought Converse probably didn’t want

to be found if she was still alive and he

respected that decision.

To this day, no one knows if Connie

Converse is alive or dead.
H

oward Fishman’s story of

discovering
Converse’s

album on Squirrel Thing is

similar to mine and Dzula’s — all three

of us being immediately enraptured

upon listening. He first heard her song

“Talkin’ Like You” at a party in 2010 and

was thrown into a state of utter euphoria

by her bluesy finger-picking, her clear-

as-day voice and the simple fact that

nothing sounds like it, no matter how

many comparisons you draw.

“I find her work to be complete-

ly original and astoundingly unique,”

Fishman said. “I think it’s very original

in a timeless way.”

Like the best calls to action, Fishman

wanted to know more about Converse

than what was on the Squirrel Thing

website. He immediately tracked down

her living family members, including

Converse’s brother, and began to piece

together her story. A musician himself,

Fishman recorded an album of his own

performances based on manuscripts of

her later piano and voice compositions.

He is also currently in the process of

writing a book about her life.

His
most
measurable
creative

endeavor, in his effort to keep Con-

verse’s legacy alive, has been his play “A

Star Has Burnt My Eye,” which debuted

at the Public Theater in New York City.

The current draft takes the form of a

non-fiction dramatic concert, with Fish-

man narrating her story and utilizing

pictures and artwork as well as excerpts

from her personal letters and live per-

formances.

“The only reason behind my writing the play

in the first place was to get the word out about

her music and the fact that I believe she deserves

much greater recognition than what she had,”

Fishman said. “The piece evolved from concerts

I was doing of her music with my band and then

telling her story inbetween the songs and that

grew into the play.”

Similar to Dzula, Fishman admires her abili-

ty to accomplish anything she desired, whether

it was writing music or editing a political science

journal.

“She took seriously everything she did and did

a lot of different things in her life,” Fishman said.

“I think that she was fully committed to every

endeavor that she set her mind to and I have no

doubt that the work that she was doing for the

journal was exemplary. I’m sure it was above and

beyond what anyone expected her to do.”

While the drama and intrigue of her disap-

pearance makes for great TV or film, Fishman

said he believes her music should be front and

center when discussing Converse.

“It’s sad, but I think that the fact that she dis-

appeared is not the most interesting thing about

her story or about her, and I think that it can take

away from attention to the music, which is what

I feel is her greatest legacy,” Fishman said. “I

think she just has that kind of magnetic pull and

it pulled me in and it just hasn’t let go yet.”
T

hroughout her life, Converse dis-

played a sense of passion that tran-

scends a common desire for fame. She

excelled in her academic studies, developed a

musical style all her own while being completely

self-taught, wrote beautifully haunting lyrics on

the momentary joys of life, became the manag-

ing editor of a prominent political science jour-

nal with little experience and didn’t let people’s

impressions of her stand between her and her

goals.

Beyond how passionate she was about every

path she went down, even more

impressive is her astounding cour-

age. Before I left for India last

summer, I thought every day about

why it was a mistake. What if I

cost myself a valuable internship

at home? What if my entire life is

based on this moment and I choose

the wrong path? What if I fail?

Despite a story filled to the brim

with what-ifs, Converse knew what

she wanted out of life and had the

courage to leave everything behind

to accomplish it. She left Mount

Holyoke for New York, she left New

York for Ann Arbor and finally she

left Ann Arbor for an unknown destination and

did so with unwavering confidence and determi-

nation. Converse helped me become self-assured

in my decision and make the best of my experi-

ence abroad by dedicating myself to my work, no

matter what what-ifs come after.

Ultimately, what I can’t shake about Con-

verse’s legacy, beyond her tragic yet inspiring

story, is how her music inspires others to create

something new and beautiful. Dzula founded

an entire record company to publish Converse’s

music and make people understand how brilliant

she was. Fishman performed concerts of her

music, is working on a book about her life and

wrote an entire play just to tell the world about

Connie Converse and why she deserves recogni-

tion and respect.

Though I consider myself a musician and

playwright, I’ve always been a piss-poor draw-

er. I couldn’t color inside the lines if you paid

me (and my Kindergarten teacher tried to). But

after listening to “I Have Considered the Lilies”

multiple times over, a powerful force came over

me — one endowed with confidence and a cre-

ative spirit. I reached for the nearest pen and a

sketchbook that had been gathering dust on my

shelf; its pages stuck together a bit. I googled one

of the few photos of Converse’s performance on

CBS’s “Morning Show,” the segment that many

assumed would rocket her to stardom and found

one that piqued my interest — her expression

intent and her fingers resting gingerly on the

neck of the guitar. I spent an hour and a half that

day, outlining her face with its sharp cheekbones,

her hair, poised and sculpted to her standards,

and her guitar resting between her arms. While

the sketch certainly isn’t ending up in the MoMA

anytime soon, Converse’s music, like it did to

Dzula and Fishman, gave me the same passion

and courage she had to step out of my comfort

zone and create. Thank you, Connie Converse,

for considering the lilies when the whole world

was “all against all.”