Remembering Jason Ogan: tenor, conductor, impresario on the ascendant

When he talked about his latest dream opera project, his eyes would just shine.

Sitting with tenor turned budding impresario Jason Ogan in a cozy booth at Pastini Pastaria in fall of 2006, Ogan and I plotted a shakeup of Portland's snoozy opera scene over generous bowls of penne. Though his newly founded company, Oregon Lyric Opera, had picked up strong early notices and survived a bumpy transition, a heady future was envisioned - with a December 2006 production of Puccini's "La Boheme" to kick off the scrappy new troupe's big ambitions under Ogan's leadership.

"Everything seems to be going well," Ogan wrote in an October 23 email to me about the production, which I had agreed to stage direct. "We have a fine cast, great venue and a lot of things working in our favor. Keep the momentum up." Ogan and I talked on the phone daily then, in excited tones, about what was in store for the suburban opera company's rebirth. On car rides to and from Gresham, we'd conjure up elaborately inventive opera collaborations - a "Marriage of Figaro" in some intimate outdoor park, or a "Carmen" in an abandoned inner-city warehouse.

Those dreams stayed distant. Only two weeks later, lacking the resources to continue, Ogan pulled the plug on the production. A month after that his father, Dennis R. Ogan, called the company quits, writing on the company's website that the decision to close OLO was "an extremely difficult time in the life of our family," and went on to say this: "We have come to the end of our resources — every attempt to bring opera to our community has failed and no one is more disappointed than Jason and I."

Jason sent out a mass email announcing his next career move: to Asia, where he said he planned to teach. By winter of 2007 he'd returned to Portland, buzzing again about bringing opera to the people and promising to revive his dormant dream.

But only a few months later, and nearly one year after the tragic suicide of beloved American tenor Jerry Hadley, on a sunny Wednesday early evening, Ogan's own lifeless body was pulled from the Willamette River near the Marquam Bridge. Portland Police say Ogan had jumped to his death sometime in the early morning hours of Tuesday, June 17. His abandoned car had been towed from the bridge that very morning.

"Despair leads to death of music man" and "Gresham man found dead in Willamette River" are not the headlines Jason was naturally inclined to make at this point in his life.

More in tune with his musical prowess - Ogan was an alum of esteemed opera training programs like Houston Grand Opera and Des Moines Metro Opera, and a former staff conductor at Mt. Hood Community College - was a glossy feature like "Opera without subtitles" in Portland State University's alumni magazine, which celebrated the birth of Oregon Lyric Opera by Ogan and then-fiancee Angela Niederloh, a mezzo-soprano herself enjoying considerable success on the opera circuit. "We're engaged," Ogan told the magazine in the fall of 2004. "It has been an exciting year," Niederloh continued. "We've got a lot to look forward to." The engagement broke off just over a year later.

I was surprised to spot Jason at a callback in late March for "Les Miserables" at the Broadway Rose Theater Company; but there he was, handsome as ever in a dark suit and slicked hair, score in hand. In a rush to my next appointment, I remember signaling at him from across the crowded hallway and exchanging a few pleasantries. I honestly hadn't really thought of Jason since, until a "Les Mis" rehearsal this past Friday, when a pale-faced woman in the cast walked onstage with red-ringed eyes at the rehearsal's start. I asked her what was wrong: "A musician friend just committed suicide." She and her now-husband had sung alongside Jason as Portland State students. They recalled him as burning bright, as a young man bursting with energy and promise, and as a tremendous musician.

I'm not sure what music was coursing through Jason's ears as he parked his car on the Marquam Bridge late Monday night or early Tuesday morning. It's possible that his acknowledged depression and mental illness had all but turned off the soaring melodies that had for so long lifted the gifted man.

I could hardly speak the lyrics, let alone sing them, at the end of rehearsal after the news of Jason's passing. And though he wasn't physically holding forth at center stage with us, as 31 voices roared with emotion, I like to hope that he somewhere heard these words:

"Take my hand and lead me to salvation /
Take my love, for love is everlasting.
And remember the truth that once was spoken /
To love another person is to see the face of God."

A service of remembrance for Jason is being held at 1 p.m. Friday, June 27, at Greater Gresham Baptist Church, 3848 N.E. Division St.