An excerpt from Marc Connors' journal

I am dying. It's now clear I will not recover. I am sad for my parents and especially for Ian. And my sisters, friends and fans. My death will affect a wide circle of people. And yet I'm not really that important or significant. Altho [sic] who is? I guess I most wanted to be someone who contributed to people's lives, the way I cherish Chaplin or Tchaikovsky or so many book and filmmakers and actors. I've had some effect in that area-I've moved and excited people. I'm sorry I haven't left more of an intellectual legacy. Scripts, songs, ideas-especially wonderful stories. Maybe that's not my talent and yet if love were enough to make one talented I'd be one of the great storytellers. I love a story where all life's problems are surmounted by a sudden deeper understanding, a spiritual understanding, a renewed faith in the human spirit.

I am dying. I'm sorry not to have the chance to take my story further but I look back and see I've done much of what I wanted. As a child I was excitable, filled with fantasy and my own specialness, loving to perform for adults and earn their delight. I would swoon before visions of beauty-like the first time I heard Tchaikovsky on the Kistler's record player...I wanted to sing like him but Mom said I wasn't the vocal lesson type and denied my request. I yearned for it but went underground until college. I fantasized in the bath and elsewhere that all was being recorded, someone was listening and noting as I sang my heart out or acted.
I loved the movies I snuck down to see every night after the family had gone to bed. I played the characters in the mirrors I spent more and more time gazing into. I knew I had greatness in me. I knew I couldn't feel this strongly and not be talented. Well, I acted. Sometimes it was great and I realized I had a unique talent-Godspell, Man of La Mancha, the Allen Gardens show, the excerpt from Big Bear, Cromwell in Man for All Seasons. I was a chameleon with great instincts. I discovered that I was a theatrical performer, not realistic. I wanted a mask...
I wanted to sing and I have, in spades. I've sung in ecstasy and misery, in good voice and almost none at all, with real artistry and poorly, onstage and on record. My major regret is that I wasn't more confident. I was always held back by my insecurities as a singer and actor especially. My hours of painful doubts and fears...

I wanted to direct someday, run an experimental theatre company. I saw them creating magic with almost no props or set. I felt I could create something beautiful and powerful. I always felt I had an instinct for how things should be, exciting, moving, powerful. But maybe the theatre's dead anyway and these are 19th century dreams. But I did direct Damn Yankees and that was one of the highs of my life and Marcus and Meira was wonderful. I put Starry Night together. I produced Ian's show. Nothing much caught the world's attention but I'm proud of them and happy with the fun I had doing them. To go onto the world stage-I don't know if I could have survived the stress anyway. I always wished I could be less nervous and anxious, not care if something succeeded. Have confidence and enjoyment and not worry. What a liberation that would have been. I left acting because I was so tied in knots that I couldn't enjoy myself, couldn't release my energies into the act, was constantly judging and commenting, always dissatisfied with the show, my performance, the director etc. I'm sorry my relationship with Cheryl collapsed altho it just had to and was no foundation for an artistic life. But we had an exciting and creative way of working that I cherish the memories of. Brave and idealistic.

I am proud I created the Nylons career but frustrated that we never ascended to the world fame and acceptance I'd hoped. And the monetary success I'd dreamed of. Maybe tho again I found a level of fame I was comfortable with, and financial level too. Some great artistic thrills (Please, Carnegie Hall, many shows, recording etc) and some of the worst days of my life. Surely the problems with Paul were sent as my great teacher...

As I write all this I wonder what it is that I regret, what I could want to live for? I've traveled, but not everywhere I wanted. I wanted to go to Africa, to Bali, to know France and speak French for real, to speak Italian. To live in Greece. To be a hit in Paris. To write. I don't know what. To win an Academy Award. To build a home. To work in wood. To have a theatre company and do good work. To write a symphony. To make a lot of money. To live in Kyoto. To make a wonderful movie, like Miss 1000 Spring Blossoms. To build wonderful low-cost apartment buildings that work to create beauty, nature, friendship and community. To market great healthy food. To help Mom to have that restaurant. To do anything to make them both happy. Build them a house. To really deal with issues and important thoughts of life today in works of art. To add to the world's faith by disseminating my credo. To beat AIDS. To be a beacon for others to help them believe it can be done and that the spiritual is real. To write my life-in real honesty, all the sexual warts and all. I wish I had been more courageous, less a nervous wreck. A better actor. Less critical of myself, less depressive, unstable. But just as searching. I don't have many "achievements" but many satisfactions. I don't think life is about achievements anyway...