On November 1, 2025, I found myself in Detroit at the Charles H. Wright Museum of African American History, attending a local event, invited by and in support of my friend Damon Trice, who was part of the cast. What I expected to be a meaningful evening turned into something far deeper, more emotional, and incredibly memorable.

The play, The HEAD-Quarters, was written by James Cohen, founder and teacher of the Detroit School of Acting. I had never met Mr. Cohen before this night, nor was I familiar with his work, which made it all the more meaningful to realize the significance of the moment I was witnessing—and later, the honor it was to meet him.

Before the play even began, the tone of the evening was set with a profound and humbling announcement from Mr. Cohen himself. He shared that his “grace-filled 55-year acting career has come to a final curtain call.” Due to his health, his lifelong love affair with acting, the stage, and storytelling was coming to an end. Even more sobering, he revealed that three days later, he was scheduled for major surgery, and that “one last performance is about all I have left in me.”

In that moment, the room grew still. And quietly, I prayed for him, along with so many others, I’m sure.

And then…the play.

The HEAD-Quarters unfolded in a barbershop setting, a familiar and comforting space where conversation flows freely. The owner wasn’t just the man everyone went to for a haircut—he was the one people turned to for guidance, wisdom, laughter, and prayer. The production was laid-back, humorous, and faith-filled, blending everyday life with spiritual grounding in a way that felt authentic and relatable.

My friend Damon Trice played an older man who frequented the barbershop, and let me tell you—he was so good I almost didn’t recognize him at first. The costume, the posture, the character work… whew! LOL. He truly disappeared into the role, and it was a joy watching him bring that character to life.

But the evening didn’t end with the final bow.

After the play, Mr. Cohen returned to the stage with a photo of his mom on display and delivered a deeply moving tribute to his mother, sharing that she had never had the opportunity to see him perform on stage during his long career. That moment cracked something open in the room. It was raw, tender, and full of love. There truly wasn’t a dry eye in the house.

Before leaving the theater, I had the opportunity to meet Mr. Cohen. Having never known his story before that evening, it was an honor to meet him on such a significant night—one marked by legacy, vulnerability, and grace.

That night wasn’t just about a play.

It was about purpose, legacy, faith, and the quiet power of showing up—one last time—despite everything.

And I’m grateful I was there to witness it.