“A teacher is like a candle… it consumes itself to light the way for  others.”

If there were a Nobel Prize for teaching, Jane Moore would be my  unequivocal nominee.  In terms of the devotion, selflessness, breadth  of knowledge and skill Jane dedicates to her teaching (in and out of  retirement) I have never in my life met a person more classifiable as  a ‘mentor’.

In the twelve years since Jane came into my life, she has been a  constant force of challenge, encouragement and support.  She has  taught me more than my brain and heart can hold, and more importantly, she released all those qualities within me that I now  come to regard as my best virtues of character.

Words cannot articulate eloquently enough Jane’s impact as both a  teacher and improv coach, but here are a few reasons why her guidance  and love have impacted me so:

Her tireless commitment to hundreds of extra curricular activities and  rehearsals.
Her understanding of the teenage mind, her leniency with its flaws and her support of its potential.
Her love for the arts, and the voice within all of us, that needs only to  be encouraged and released.
Her ability to love what we all do, and still understand how we could  do it better.
Her friendship outside of the school forum, as a friend, mentor, fan  and peer.

Jane has been a crutch when times were hard, a cheer when times were  great, and everything in between.  I only wish all students could  have the honor of one day being taught or coached by Jane Moore, and  I am grateful for the chance I had to experience her gift.

To Jane – unofficial Nobel Laureate. 

Brian Frommer

Jane,

 Most of my teachers told me to "be Quiet!", "Focus on your homework" and "stop acting silly".  Jane gave me permission to be funny, goofy, odd. In short, she encouraged me to be myself. 

The seed planted from Jane Moore has grown. Today, I make people laugh for a living. I've performed all around the world, from Finland to Hong Kong, and had many excellent adventures.  Life is good.  Jane is still in my life, tending that seedling with love, helping to keep that plant alive and growing ever strong.

Thanks dear Jane.

love Marjorie Malpass

            It’s hard to sum up everything Jane did for me.  I certainly wouldn’t be the same creative person; I wouldn’t have tasted that early sense of importance that she gave everyone; my ego would be bruised and battered.  More than anyone, she gave me the confidence and strength to believe in myself and my abilities.  That sounds dry, considering how much she really did.
            She coached me for three years on BOFA, but really she’s still coaching me.  Jane is definitely not afraid to express her opinion, on politics or your life, and sometimes that can grate on the confident person she helped me to become.  But it never grates for long, because she’s usually right.
            At low points, she’s been a constant cheerleader.  She’s helped me piece together an over-sensitive ego, given me a reason to keep on a path that most consider suspect.  I’m sure that the legions of other people who have pursued the vain foolishness of a career in the arts would agree.  I can see the reflections of that relentless pushing in the immediate comradeship I feel with anyone who was coached by her.
            People in the arts usually tend towards the self-indulgent, especially after spending years at Canterbury being told how special they are.  While it’s true, it’s often a big shock when you leave and discover how cold and dismissive the arts world can be.  But, in large part due to Jane, I’ve never felt that I didn’t belong or couldn’t make it.  She taught all of us in BOFA the early lesson of expectation and achievement.
            For all that hardness, it’s pretty easy to make her cry, which is a mirror image of the arts themselves.  You have to be confident, even arrogant, but you can’t get too far from your soul.

What can I say about Jane Moore:

Andre and I met Jane Moore when our son Brian joined the Canterbury High School Improv Team.  We had known of Jane from the literary coffee shop held at Canterbury we attended when Brian was in Grade 10.  We were quite blown away by the level and intensity of the creative writing produced by her students.  It would be hard not to be impressed by a teacher who can not only bring to life what young people have to say but can also encourage and support them in writing about the issues that most of us as parents would prefer not to address. We were struck at that time by the affection and high esteem Jane’s students had for her. 

Once Brian had joined the improv team we got to know Jane even better.  We got to know her through her willingness to allow us to become part of the “Bofa family” and we got to know her through Brian’s eyes. 

How could we not be swept away?  Her enthusiasm, her professionalism, her genuine love for each and every member of her current and previous teams, her belief in each student’s ability and potential, her sacrifices for the team, her willingness to go above and beyond, her respect, her ability to not just make demands on the students but to have them make demands on themselves – and above all – her joy in everything they did. 

Every parent, I believe, sends their child off to school with the hope that at some point they will meet a teacher who will profoundly influence them to not just reach their potential but rise above it.  We hope that our child will learn the joy in learning, in participating, in competing, in striving to be everything they and we dream of them being. 

We found that teacher in Jane Moore who chose Brian for the Improv Team and encouraged him, pushed him, cajoled him, and loved him.  And from that Brian has become the man he is today.  Every student who enters school should be so lucky.  Unfortunately there are few Jane Moores in the world and we feel blessed to have had her in Brian’s life.

Since graduating from Canterbury Brian has continued his relationship with Jane.  She has, as she does with all her students, continued to take an interest in his life;  attending his performances, listening to his music, supporting and encouraging him. 

It has been over 10 years since that literary coffee house and we are thrilled to be able to say that we have gotten to know Jane as a friend and neighbour.  How lucky is that!!!!

Joan Frommer

It's funny now, fifteen+ years later.  I have a step-son the age we were when we were on the BOFA team.  What a vulnerable time of life. Still not really knowing your arse from your elbow.  I suppose I still don't, but now I don't try to anymore either.

At a time in life when we were still so unsure of ourselves, so unaware of our talents, so obsessed with our shortcomings,  Jane gave us the positive.  Told us the good stuff about us.  You're so funny
- You're so intelligent.  She saw the strengths in each of us, and taught me to see the strengths in others as well.

Jane raised us up.
She treated us with respect and taught us to meet high expectations.
She taught us that hard work pays.

I've always felt extremely lucky to have had the opportunity to train with Jane at that point in my life.  I remember being so lucid and quick-witted, I felt like I had a head start on the world.

Thank you Jane for the Miles over and above the line of duty.
For Saturday rehearsals in your living room and pizza lunch.  For driving us all over hell's half acre to make it work out.  For kicking my butt to get my homework done so I could stay on the team.  For listening to and valuing our ideas.  For really caring about us.  For making us look good and then being so proud of us when we did.
You're a magic woman.  May everyone of us remember to give back to the next generation even a quarter of what you gave us - then things 'd be just fine.

Much love and respect.

kath/mook

I always have trouble explaining Jane. Sometimes I bump into her somewhere and I have to explain her to whomever I am with.

This is my friend Jane. She taught me how to write. And made the Canadian Improv Games what they are today.  Also, many of the smart, funny, clever  people you see on Canadian television were moulded by her. No. Really.  Plays too – fringe and other – brilliantly written by people she taught….to write… that’s right. And also, everyone loves her.  Because she is warm and soft and kind and funny, but not a pushover, you know?….

And then I get the look. So I stop talking.

Other times  I will be out with her and we will bump into someone I know. And then I have to explain her.

…She taught English, but not in the way you were taught. Yes. Literature and creative writing. But not like high school creative writing. Well yes, it WAS high school, but we were taught how to think on our own. To write like musicians and painters. To see things your teachers probably never thought to notice. I don’t know…she was just more creative I guess. Smarter too I suppose….

And then I get the look.

Once I saw her out with a new friend that she had made and I briefly wondered if  her new buddy understood WHO SHE WAS WITH. I didn’t have time to explain Jane to her however, as I was with a friend of my own. 

…Right. We used to rehearse at her house. And she made us feel as though we were really special and creative and talented even when we were nothing more than tired, messy,  insolent, troubled (some more than others) teenagers planted in her living room. She allowed us to become what she saw. I guess that’s another reason BOFA was so much better than all of the other improv teams. … No. Objectively better. We always won... ask around….

And then I get that look.

Sometimes her name will just come up. I will be talking about improv or writing or high school or teaching or comedy or dedication or artistic genius or the fringe festival or playwriting and then I have to explain her. 

The hardest is explaining her to her though.

It gives me a headache.

A giant headache.

Really.

She is constantly surprised by the reaction she gets from former students when they see her (not BOFA people, rather, those who had her for one or two classes or who were part of the wonderful literary arts programs she created). She is amazed to learn that she changed someone’s life, or that she taught them to write, or that they think of her all the time. Hugs from these people also catch her off guard (in the good way).

Though I guess that’s okay. Maybe if she knew the depth of her greatness, her brilliance, her humour, her compassion, if she truly understood  how many lives she has touched and changed for the better she would be impossible to deal with.

And I am pretty fond of her the way she is.

Sheri Segal