“[Judith Jamison] created representation and she made a path wide enough for other people to walk through too and be able to see themselves. She could hold the audience in the palm of her hands with her words, not only her movement but just with an eye movement or a pithy remark.” ~ Ronnie Favors, Alvin Ailey Rehearsal Director

“You have to dance unencumbered.  There’s no other way to  move. The idea of dance is freedom. It is not exclusiveness, it’s inclusiveness. ~ Judith Jamison

Back in the good old 1970s, on weeknights and weekends, my mixed breed Lab-GSP, Jason, and I would gather in Central Park’s Sheep Meadow with dozens of other dogs and their humans. We would exercise our pooches while visiting with each other. For the most part, everyone — dogs and humans — got along very well. Those were the days!

In some cases the dogs looked a lot like their humans. A redhead might have had an Irish Setter; a petite blonde might have had an English Cocker Spaniel; a hefty man might have had an English Bulldog; a tall slender person with long flowing hair might have had an Afghan Hound…you get the idea.

One such human-canine pair was Judy, a statuesque African American woman, and her sleek black Great Dane named Emma.

I enjoyed chatting with my fellow dog companions; in most cases we humans only knew the dogs’ names, and we would refer to our fellow individuals as Ramsey’s or Lady’s person, owner, mom or dad. One exception was the aforementioned Judy; for some reason I remembered her name; and I especially enjoyed chatting with her, and Jason relished playing with Emma. Judy was attractive and personable, and I was always pleased to see her. We never exchanged last names — no one did — nor did anyone speak about their personal or professional lives. Everyone, including Judy and me, kept our conversations to our dogs, the weather or something fun in the news. It was relaxing and removed from the hectic aspects of our lives.  

One evening, while watching TV,  there was an item that featured Judith Jamison, the famous Alvin Ailey dancer. While watching the piece, a strange epiphany came over me. I gasped, immediately called a close friend who had listened to my anecdotes about the Sheep Meadow dog gatherings and shrieked my discovery into the phone. 

The next time Jason and I saw Judy and Emma at the Park, I tried to remain myself and not act starstruck. “I just realized who you are,”  I told her.  

“You’ve always known who I am,” Judith Jamison replied, shaking her head and smiling. “I’m just Judy from the Park.”  

I have never forgotten her — or her beautiful and stately dog, Emma — and am grateful that our paths crossed in that very delightful and ordinary way.

Judy from the Park passed away on Saturday. Rest in peace, Judy, and thank you for the lifelong memory.

Until next time,

Jeanne

Note: The photo above is by Kim Walker