7B

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.”

