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.”