On October 27, 1999, Wednesday, Constance Bainbridge suffered a massive heart attack, dying instantly. She therefore missed, by a few months, her goal of welcoming the millennium.

Though she may have missed welcoming the millennium, her many accomplishments in promoting Bermuda theatre will be remembered well into the next millennium.

Though there was theatre in Bermuda, witness the Bermuda Music and Dramatic Society, Constance excited the interest and theatrical imaginations of Bermuda's population, where many, many individuals joined this volunteer activity. She was able to impart her own love of theatre to such a degree that many who never thought of acting in a play found themselves painting sets, looking for props, and taking a stab at acting.

Constance did not believe in any activity being a spectator sport, and always believed that every individual had talents and abilities they hadn't yet experienced. Under her coaching, individuals who had never performed in public, reached into their psyches to produce a remarkable characterization.

I first met Constance while attending a production of one of Shakespeare's plays. I had arrived in Bermuda in June, 1962 for a two-week holiday, and except for brief vacations, stayed on this lovely island for the next ten years.

I expected a beach and barefoot environment, and was totally surprised to see an announcement for a forthcoming production of a Shakespeare play. Attending this performance, I was amazed to see such a professional production from a group of amateurs. I asked to meet the director, who turned out to be Constance Bainbridge. From this beginning came a friendship with Emerson and Constance Bainbridge that I have cherished each day of my life.

I found both these people to be remarkable, people who taught me so very much about theatre, literature, in fact, about life in general.

Following are a few of my own memories. However, many people on this island must have a great many remembrances of the lady who played such an important part in Bermuda's cultural life.

Therefore, it is my hope that my esteemed Editor, David L. White, would use his considerable talents to contact the many people prominent in Connie Bainbridge's life, to recount their own memories. It is hoped that these anecdotes may be gathered for a book that will be a testament of her life, to be cherished by Stephen and Gordon Bainbridge and all of us who knew her.

In my own association with Constance, I learned how far ranging her talents, abilities and interests were.

She used her acting talents to both teach and illuminate a point, to encourage others to learn by example. Her directing had an enormous range. Comedies like Harvey, tragedies like Shakespeare's sternest, or little one-act mood plays.

Noteworthy as her acting and directing abilities were, her writing talents were more notable. In addition to several one-act mood plays, she was given the assignment of writing a play on Bermuda's origins for the 350th anniversary of the founding of Bermuda.

The result was the remarkable play: "My Heart Stays Here'', written in dramatic verse on how Bermuda came into being. This signature work was warmly and admiringly praised by the famous Noel Coward, and will always be part of Bermuda's heritage and a legacy to all future generations.

It was the noted New York Times critic, Brooks Atkinson, who, upon viewing one of Constance's theatre productions, remarked: "They have the enthusiasm of amateurs with the polish of professionals.'' Editing is a fine art. If no man is a hero to his valet, no playwright is a hero to his editor.

Too often, the person editing, be it director, colleague or some casual production reader, ruins the work by cutting off the conclusion of a speech, by eliminating an entire page, by eliminating the speaking lines of one of the play's characters. Connie would not do that. No matter how great the urgency, how many demands upon her time, she would take hours and hours to go over the play, word by work, cutting where least noticeable, least objectionable, so at the end, the author would not realise that he had been severely edited.

More than any of these talents, is the evaluative summation that Connie valued more that any other: You are a good friend. To be a good friend meant that the person so designated would do whatever was necessary to earn and maintain that evaluation. Self-Sacrifice, embarrassment, financial Participation: whatever was necessary a good friend would do.

I saw this credo in action when Constance Bainbridge came to my support, awkward though it might be.

Over the years, working with Connie in editing her plays, she had imparted a continual stream of advice on directing. What approach to use with the actors when the production was a multi-character play; when it was a monologue, when the play was to be presented in concert version.

Finally, the day came when I was to direct my first play: the concert version of Sean O'Casey's play, "I Knock at the Door''. Naturally, I wanted the person who had been my teacher, my mentor, my supporter, to see my efforts.

However, this was an unhappy, awkward time for Connie.

For countless years, she had been treated almost as an icon by The Bermuda Music and Dramatic Society. Listened to, deferred to, followed. Now, she was largely ignored by many of those who had once hung upon her every suggestion.

To spend an evening among that indifferent, perhaps hostile crowd, was unthinkable. I resigned myself that she would not see my work and not realise how much she had taught me informally, almost in breathing. It was so continual and so casual.

However, I looked out at the audience and saw that she was there. She had come in quietly, had sat with Anita Wingate, frequently directed by Connie, and had left as soon as the performance was over. But she had come.

Later, when I thanked her for coming and expressed surprise that she had done so, her five word answer said it all: "Bea, I am your friend.'' Generally, in all decisions of projects and their productions, Emerson and I let Connie make the decisions.

However, I wanted to present, to those who had approval authority, the three projects in which I was interested. Let them decide which should be approved.

Constance approved of my strategy. Emerson objected, put his foot down and would not back down.

"Discuss only one project. Don't even let any information about the others be visible.'' Finally, to keep the peace, Connie asked me to follow Emerson's suggestion. My project was approved. Years later, a senior editor at The New Yorker Magazine was having a series of conferences and he gave me the exact same advice. I made Emerson's day when I reported this to him.

In the last couple of years, Constance and I had a game plan. After I retired, she and I would get together on a daily basis. We would jointly write up the many memories, mementos and anecdotes that Emerson had and all those in her store of memorabilia. We would write in book form, in essay form, in anecdotal form. I kept pleading that we write them up as mystery plays. Constance was firm in her refusal.

"It's just that you love mysteries. Mystery writing is a special art.'' Then she placated me. She would have Gordon get videos and radio plays of all my favourite mystery authors. During the day, we would work on the Emerson /Constance material. At night, we would sit and watch or listen to mystery plays.

Constance, you promised me that you would live, that we would both live until the year 2001. This was your promise.

Constance, it is most unseemly that you should die at this time. You were supposed to keep your promise.

You both taught me so much. Emerson is gone and now you are gone. If I do everything you both taught me: "To Whom will I show my wares?''