Women’s Bean Project Founder Josepha Eyre Dies From COVID-19

My first memory of Helen Powers in the Romero Troupe was working on our scene about the Leadville miners' strike. This powerful scene started with three or four dead miners scattered across the stage, with several other miners carrying the bodies one by one over to one side, where each was covered with a sheet, with a young woman keening in loud sobs next to one of the dead bodies. A few other women watched the scene. Helen, already in her eighties, was the first to speak, in a loud clear voice and heavy Irish brogue: “That makes th-u-rr-teen. How many more arrh there?” and a few lines later, “My God, Michael, why did they attack the mine? Didn't they know the guards would be waitin' for them?”

Helen loved those powerful brief lines, and always made the most of them, working hard to commit them to memory and delivering them with impeccable timing. She was a natural actor, and the communal creative process of the Troupe along with its feeling like belonging in a supportive family really nourished her soul. As we developed different story lines over the years there were many powerful moments created specifically for Helen's unique stage presence, and she gladly rose to the occasion. I think especially of the elder activist in the San Luis valley when all the men in the meeting with the Denver attorneys hesitated to sign legal documents seeking to reclaim their stolen rights to access the large land-grant property that they had used for generations for hunting, wood-gathering and other purposes. Helen stepped forward from the back of the room, telling them “If you men don't have the cojones to sign, get out of my way, I'll sign it!” And her extensive role as Hope, along with fellow homeless woman Faith, as they welcomed a young man into their street community connected to a radical past of many struggles for justice. At one point as they described their work Helen said “They can't bullshit us!” When the young man caught on to what these women were about, he said “You're troublemakers!” and they replied “No, we're love-makers!” which always got a big round of applause.

Helen loved getting to know the stream of young people coming through the troupe, and formed many strong friendships, though she had a hard time remembering names. I live close to Helen's apartment building, and often gave her a ride to and from rehearsals. Over the years, especially after the early years of written scripts, it became clear she wasn't hearing everything and sometimes missed what the stories were about. It was also true that she lived by a strong sense of justice and right and wrong, so sometimes when there was some ambiguity in a character or subtlety in the “moral” lesson of a story, she'd be a little dissatisfied with it. When we acted out the story of Frenchy, a transgender man who lived a fascinating life in early Colorado histoy, Helen played the part of a nun in a Catholic hospital in Trinidad, where Frenchy was sent by a doctor after his genital identity was discovered. Like many Romero stories, the few details in this one came from rather sparse newspape stories from the early 1900s. Frenchy was forced

to wear dresses, but after his death the nuns followed through on a promise that he could be buried in his long pants. Helen insisted on adding a set of lines for the nun eloquetly endorsing his right to live out his “true identity”, which seemed a little doubtful given the little history we had access to. Helen also thought it was part of the Romero culture that every participant should have meaningful lines in whatever story we were presenting, despite the obvious experience many of us had playing dead bodies or other (silent) bit parts. It was also part of her value system that our acted-out stories should bring a clear, important social and political message to people, and on the way home after a performance or the next time we got together she would often express satisfaction on how well-received our message had been, or that she thought we really brought the audience a sense of hope or inspired them to take action. And partly because we (perhaps less confidently) shared that hope, and mostly because that was part of what we loved about Helen, we didn't contradict her or dispute her optimistic assessment of our impact. Like her, we treasured being part of the Romero Troupe, the fellowship of our circle, the fun and excitement of the theater, and the shared values of social justice and human dignity.

Helen began acting at the age of 80 and acted up to the end of her life . She was a small women with a strong powerful voice . Being part of our community brought her much joy and pride. Helen once said “Being kind is the most important thing there is”. She had an unshakable faith in the goodness of the human race . She inspired so many people young and old.

Love you Helen