Cap’s Off to You! – Barbara Reed (Posthumously) and Celebrating Story

Barbara Reed is celebrated in the storytelling world not simply as a gifted teller, but as a visionary builder—someone who saw what storytelling could be and then set about making it real. At a time when storytelling was often marginalized or misunderstood, Barbara recognized its deep human necessity. She believed, with quiet conviction and relentless energy, that storytelling belonged everywhere: in schools, libraries, community halls, festivals, and unlikely corners where people gathered. Her guiding belief that “everyone is a storyteller and everyone is a storylistener” became more than a mantra; it became a philosophy that reshaped Connecticut’s cultural landscape and influenced the national storytelling movement.

One of Barbara Reed’s most enduring legacies is the creation of the Connecticut Storytelling Festival and the Connecticut Storytelling Center. What began as a single conference grew—through her persistence, imagination, and sheer will—into a major annual gathering that drew thousands of tellers and listeners. Barbara didn’t just curate performances; she designed experiences that invited participation, reflection, and courage. She made room for nationally known artists and first-time tellers alike, believing that storytelling flourishes when voices at every stage are welcomed. The festival became a pilgrimage site for storytellers, not because it was flashy, but because it was rooted in generosity, listening, and purpose.

Barbara was also a tireless mentor and educator, particularly devoted to nurturing beginning storytellers. Through her teaching at Connecticut College and her leadership in workshops and sharing circles across the state, she helped countless people discover their own storytelling voices. She had an extraordinary ability to demystify storytelling—reminding students that they already knew how to tell stories, that it was a natural human act rather than a rare talent. Many storytellers trace their confidence, careers, or sense of belonging directly back to Barbara’s encouragement and belief in them.

What set Barbara Reed apart was not only her vision, but her willingness to do the work. She brought stories into classrooms, senior centers, libraries, bars, puppet houses, and community spaces that others might overlook. She believed deeply in reaching audiences who had never encountered live storytelling and delighted in those moments of first discovery. Whether clearing away beer cans before a family program or stepping onto a punk-rock stage with complete faith in the power of story, Barbara demonstrated that storytelling belongs wherever people are willing to listen.

Today, the Barbara Reed Award—presented annually by the Connecticut Storytelling Center—stands as a living tribute to her spirit. The award honors individuals who embody her values: leadership, service, inclusion, and an unwavering commitment to storytelling as a force for connection and transformation. We celebrate Barbara Reed not only for what she accomplished, but for what she made possible for others. Her legacy lives on every time a new storyteller finds their voice, every time a listener feels seen, and every time a community gathers to share stories—because Barbara Reed insisted that stories matter, and then showed us how to build a world that proves it.

If you have links to add – video, audio, articles – please share by emailing info@storycrossroads.org or commenting on this blog post.

You can see more details on Barbara Reed with the Story Artists Memorial.

Enjoy this video that is a tribute to Barbara Reed:

Do you know a Story Artist who has passed on and want others to remember them? Memories? Pictures? You can submit names and memories of Story Artists who have passed on through our online form. 

I never had the privilege of meeting Barbara Reed, yet as a producer and organizer of storytelling events, I recognize her immediately in the work itself. I see her in the boldness it takes to imagine a festival where none exists, in the persistence required to build structures that allow stories—and storytellers—to thrive, and in the generosity of spirit that centers both teller and listener as essential. Through those of us who continue to build, convene, and believe, her vision keeps unfolding.

Barbara Reed still has a story. You have a story. We all have stories.

Cap’s Off to You! – Dylan Pritchett (Posthumously) and Celebrating Story

For more than three decades, Dylan Prtichett walked into schools, museums, historic sites, sanctuaries, and gathering places with the steady presence of someone who understood the weight and wonder of history. He told stories not to perform them, but to restore them—especially those handed down through African American and ancestral memory. “Let’s be true with truth in our story,” he once reminded fellow storytellers. “Our ancestors are listening.” That belief shaped everything: the research he pursued, the characters he embodied, and the reverence he carried for the people whose voices had been quieted. When he spoke, audiences leaned forward because they knew he spoke with love, depth, and intention.

To those who worked beside him, Dylan was more than a performer—he was a guide. Curators like Martha Katz-Hyman remembered how his encouragement carried them through difficult and delicate work. “Dylan was always there, encouraging us; his wide smile and kind words made me proud of what I was doing.” Michelle Carr Clawson, who called him her brother of 41 years, said they shared dreams, prayers, and the responsibility to “tell the other half of the story.” And from decades of friendships formed in Colonial Williamsburg, the Fifes and Drums, and the National Association of Black Storytellers, the testimony was the same: Dylan lifted people. He listened fully. He inspired confidence. He helped others see the meaning in what they were doing, because he saw the meaning in what he was doing.

Yet it was his approach to life—gentle, steadfast, deeply rooted—that people return to most. His daughter Shannan described how he insisted they know where they came from, not as an academic exercise but as a grounding of identity and pride. Friends remembered how he would say, “Breathe…” when someone needed space to settle. Dylan himself modeled reflection with a clarity that felt like wisdom spoken softly. After visiting his son on his 34th birthday, he wrote: “What mattered was I took the time to say what I said and do what I did. The moment was more meaningful to me in the doing.” He understood presence as a kind of love. He understood memory as inheritance.

Dylan also lived with an awareness of life’s fragility, shaped by losing his father at a young age. Each year he honored that memory by urging others to cherish the people still within reach: “For those you love… love them! For those you relish in friendship, find time to laugh with them. For those you need to forgive… forgive them… It don’t take long to go away from here.” Yet even in this honesty, he carried resilience. During difficult times he wrote, “We’ve been this way before… depending on the community to provide the basic necessities of life and hope was a daily occurrence.” His faith—quiet, unwavering—was a compass that pointed him toward compassion and service.

And so, when people describe Dylan Pritchett now, they use words like peacemaker, brother, mentor, griot. They remember a voice “like drumming through the darkness,” as poet Lara Templin wrote. They remember the laughter, the steady leadership, the way he filled a room without ever needing to dominate it. They remember how he made stories feel alive—how he made them feel alive. His family invited the world to celebrate him not in black, but in cowry shells and kente, because joy mattered to him. Spirit mattered to him. And story mattered most of all. Dylan Pritchett lived his story boldly, beautifully, and generously—and now it continues in every person he taught, encouraged, or inspired to keep the stories going forward.

If you have links to add – video, audio, articles – please share by emailing info@storycrossroads.org or commenting on this blog post.

You can see more details on Dylan Pritchett with the Story Artists Memorial.

Enjoy this video featuring Dylan Pritchett that includes an interview and performance:

Do you know a Story Artist who has passed on and want others to remember them? Memories? Pictures? You can submit names and memories of Story Artists who have passed on through our online form. 

I remember meeting Dylan Pritchett at the National Association of Black Storytellers’ 41st conference—the first time in its history that NABS gathered in Salt Lake City. Dylan was instantly unforgettable: jovial, grounded, and effortlessly organized, a true pillar of strength for that landmark event and for every moment that followed. His spirit continues in the community he strengthened—with every storyteller he encouraged, every truth he lifted, and every room he brightened simply by being in it.

Dylan Pritchett still has a story. You have a story. We all have stories.

Cap’s Off to You! – Michael Perry (Posthumously) and Celebrating Story

Michael Perry had the rare gift of making every space he entered a stage, and every audience a collaborator. Whether in a school auditorium, under a circus tent, or at a storytelling festival, Michael invited people to breathe with him, to pause, and to enter a world where humor and humanity walked hand in hand. A graduate of Ringling Bros. Clown College and a veteran performer, he understood that clowning was never just about red noses or oversized shoes—it was about connection, timing, and heart. One colleague remembered him at a storytelling workshop, saying, “Although I was only able to participate in part of your workshop, the simple steps you referenced were transformative. An ‘aha’ moment. Thank you for that gift.” That was Michael—playful yet profound, always leaving space for others to discover their own moments of insight.

Michael’s storytelling was inseparable from his clowning. In his one-man show Saving Face: Memoir of a Circus Clown, he brought audiences into the interior world of a performer’s heart, balancing laughter with reflection. From the stage, he famously declared, “You can’t kill a clown.” It was not just a line, but a philosophy: laughter, like storytelling, is a resilient thread that weaves through life’s ups and downs. Fellow performer John McHugh reflected on sharing the stage with him: “We shared a clowning background which included the circus and a national clown character. His timing, gestures, and presence made every story come alive. I’ll always remember the way he could make a room feel both playful and deeply connected.”

Beyond performance, Michael shared his craft generously. Michael F. Palmosina II recalled, “He was likeable from the start. Friendly, engaging, and funny. During a performance for children at Variety Pittsburgh, I watched him capture every child’s attention, weaving magic and storytelling together. Even the children who were challenged in various ways were captivated, and you could see their delight on their faces.” His influence extended into workshops as well. Misty Mator shared, “He was wise about validating difficulties while helping you find the laughter in everything. You could feel the joy because of his presence and his understanding that sorrow and joy live side by side.”

Family, friends, and colleagues remember him as a source of curiosity and encouragement. Guy Russo described him as “one of the truly finest human beings we have ever known. His ability to turn everyday moments into stories of humor and insight was extraordinary.” Each reflection echoes the life Michael lived: full of warmth, generosity, and a playful curiosity that touched everyone he met. His daughter Jen wrote, “My father was my light, my hope, my hero… the moral to his story being not to let the joy die. I won’t let the joy die, Dad.”

Even in his final moments, Michael was performing. He left this world having just shared the performance of a lifetime, reminding all of us of the sacred joy that comes from storytelling. His laughter, lessons, and stories continue to ripple through the communities he touched—in classrooms, theaters, and hearts alike. In every punchline delivered, every pause that held meaning, and every smile he evoked, Michael Perry’s spirit remains. The clown cannot be killed, and neither can the storyteller who made joy and connection his life’s work.

If you have links to add – video, audio, articles – please share by emailing info@storycrossroads.org or commenting on this blog post.

You can see more details on Michael Perry with the Story Artists Memorial.

Enjoy this video featuring Michael Perry below:

Do you know a Story Artist who has passed on and want others to remember them? Memories? Pictures? You can submit names and memories of Story Artists who have passed on through our online form. 

I remember Michael Perry at the National Storytelling Conferences, always smiling and inviting everyone to join in the fun while opening their minds to new perspectives. His clowning and storytelling were one and the same—full of humor, heart, and generosity. Every laugh he sparked and every story he shared left a lasting impression on those lucky enough to be in his circle. Michael’s spirit lives on in the joy and connection he created wherever he performed.

Michael Perry still has a story. You have a story. We all have stories.