COMPANY MASCOT
Miss Julie (Executive Office Greeter)
July 27, 2003 ‐ April 27, 2014.
We are deeply saddened to share with you that Miss Julie Ferriter, Company Mascot and number
one best friend, passed away at the end of April, 2014. Julie had been diagnosed with cancer
earlier, in September, and had undergone treatment for eight months up until the time of her
death. The cancer had been contained by chemotherapy treatments, however it could not be
completely eradicated and had localized in her liver. The doctors had taken Julie off all
medication in late April. Julie left this good Earth while she and her human, Artistic Director
Tom Ferriter, were enjoying a special last-time-on-vacation in the Outer Banks of North
Carolina, where Julie first learned to swim and dig in the sand, and especially enjoyed sprinting,
unleashed, to make new friends on the wide open, barely populated beaches of the National
Seashore. Julie experienced very little discomfiture while undergoing treatment, with minimal
nausea and no side effects from the chemotherapy; she had been running up the beach on the day
of her final morning. Julie did not suffer until her last few hours; she died in Tom's arms, at 9:49
pm, Sunday night, April 27th.
Miss Julie was in the company office almost every day of the nearly eleven years of her very
happy life (except when vacationing at the beach) and had been a prominent presence and an
integral part of the company -- to such an extent that the Board appointed her Official Company
Mascot. Julie served for more than ten years with distinction in her official capacity as
Executive Office Greeter. Each day while in the office, Julie was alertly stationed near the door
on her bench (from the set of First Wife) or propped against the throw pillows on the nearby
couch (from the set of The Crying Woman/La Llorona) ever ready to provide welcome to the
hundreds of visitors who had come to the office during the entirety of her fun-filled life. One
thing was for sure certain: if a visitor did not acknowledge her presence on arrival, Julie
wouldn't take no for an answer. And, although she didn't have approvals, she could always
smell out a bad candidate.
Our most special times with Julie were in the evenings, when working into the early morning
hours. She was a welcome companion through all those lonely late nights. And then, every
night exactly at 12:30 am, Julie would jump down from her bench, shake herself out, and come
position herself on the rug, four feet away from our desks. Her beautiful brown eyes would look
into mine and say ‐ let's go man, shut it down and lock it up ‐ time to go home, let's boogey.
Nothing can quite describe the satisfying experience of walking down Broadway at 1:00 am in
the morning (sometimes later), feeling complete and fulfilled, a creature of the theatre, with Julie
in the lead, firmly in harness at the other end of the leash, sniffing out the neighborhood, taking
me safely home. To be sure, when reaching the subway entrance, Julie would hop into her
transit-approved Sherpa bag, to be swung up onto my left shoulder and positioned securely under
my left arm, right next to my heart, where she remains now and for always.
Julie was a positive spirit, her mood was joyous, her personality overly-friendly, her presence
ever lively, her love always present, and her companionship depended upon so deeply such that
her loss represents now a huge absence in the office, and in our lives. We had spent nearly 15
waking hours a day with Julie most days; she was a rare and very special creature; she had a
warm heart, was a good sport, most affectionate, with a wonderful and open curiosity towards all
things living, accompanied with a subversive sense of humor, and a wicked bark.
A commemorative display of three pictures memorializing Julie's life at work is mounted on the
wall in our outer office ‐ next to the bench and across from the couch Julie graced so
comfortably. In remembrance of all things Julie: she was more than a good dog, she was a great
dog, with a beautiful soul. Julie was perfection. Now departed, never forgotten, forever missed.
Tom Ferriter, Artistic Director.
