|Photo by Monica Simoes|
Welch died Dec. 2 from complications related to cancer at the age of 48.
In the audience of the memorial were such reliable players as Henry Stram, John Pankow, Edward Hibbert, Dana Ivey, Celia Keenan-Bolger, Mary McCann, Thomas Jay Ryan, Jayne Atkinson, Stephen Kunken, Michael Emerson, Keith Reddin, Reg Rogers and many more. No doubt, they recognized a kindred soul in Welch, who forged a fruitful career over two decades, executing dozens of stage and film roles. While he never achieved widespread fame, he was always working and almost always critically appreciated.
His mother, Kathy Burke, remembered that Welch had pursued a master's degree so that he could teach in case his acting career dried up. It proved unnecessary. "He never had to find another job," she observed through tears.
The other speakers, who included directors Doug Hughes and Joe Dowling and playwrights Bruce Norris and Theresa Rebeck, remembered an effusive, energetic, loquacious man who found the fun in every activity and never seemed to lose his enthusiasm for any of his passions, from music (he headed a Seattle rock group in the early '90s) to reading ("The drunken, endless debates about that book," recalled Rogers, who read from "Moby Dick," one of Mr. Welch's favorite novels) to fatherhood (his daughter, June, was born three years ago.)
"On stage or off, he was willing to take a header into whatever he was working on," remembered Hughes. Thereafter, to Hughes amusement, Welch would expound to his cool young friends how Harvey was actually secretly "hip." But, then, recalled Hughes, he could convince you most anything he was into at the time was actually "hip." "Let's face it," said Hughes, "the boy could talk."
Welch's unflagging gift for gab was commented on by almost every speaker, as was his contagious engagement with every project. "He was just so positive about everything he got into." said Rogers. Actor Jefferson Mays recalled being perfectly willing to dislike Welch upon first meeting him — a natural reaction from an actor whose parents had inordinately praised to their own son the gifts of a perfect stranger (Welch) whose work they had seen onstage. Mays' built-in animosity didn't last long.
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