Hundreds Crowd Belcourt for Max Barry Memorial

Given circumstances for which no words seem quite right, the ones Will Kimbrough used to greet Mayor Megan Barry, her husband Bruce and the hundreds of family, friends and Nashvillians who crowded into the Belcourt Theatre Tuesday morning to memorialize their only son were as good as any.

"We shouldn't be here," he said. "But I sure do love y'all."

Three days after Max Barry, 22, died of an apparent overdose in the Denver area, the theatre the Barry family has long supported hosted the gathering with the hopes of supporting them. Over the course of an hour-long service, Max was remembered as a curious intellectual adventurer with a magnetic social presence — a boy only just becoming a man who loved to live and lived to love. 

Despite a crowd that included a host of Metro officials, former mayors and governors, it was a service that largely eschewed the Barry's public and political identity and revolved around their life as a family: two parents and their son. Tennessee Court of Appeals Judge Richard Dinkins remarked that although he was listed in the program as Judge Richard Dinkins, he was really attending as Coach Dinkins. He recalled overseeing a young Max Barry's attempts at playing basketball and baseball, drawing laughter from the crowd with memories of the boy's lack of coordination. 

More than that, though, he called upon those in the room to live up to the notion of community. The joys of one are the joys of all, he said, and the sorrows of one are the sorrows of all.

Max Barry was also movingly remembered by his friends. Tommy Prine, son of singer-songwriter John Prine who would close the service with a performance, spoke of realizing that Max had been like a brother to him by assessing the size of void left by his passing. Naomi Boissy and Tom Dodson read poetry inspired by the outdoors their friend was said to have loved.

Also among the speakers was Dean Masullo, who served as Max's English teacher and advisor at University School of Nashville. He recalled Max's enthusiastic and enveloping hugs.

Later, joking that the best part of any event in Nashville is the unannounced performer, Bruce Barry came on stage to speak about his son and the community that he said had embraced he and his family in recent days. As he transitioned into memories of Max specifically, he produced a baseball cap from his suit jacket, pulling it on his head backwards to knowing laughter from the crowd.

The circumstances in Denver Saturday night told the story of Max's death, he said. But they did not tell the story of his life, one devoted to seeking experiences and people with which to do so. For Max, he said, the old cliche was true: the journey was the destination. Returning to Max's time playing sports as a young boy, he recalled that his son lacked the competitive approach to life that fuels many athletes.

"He didn't want to beat the other team, he wanted to meet the other team."

The service closed with John Prine's performance of his song "Souvenirs." He dedicated the song to Max, whom he remembered as the boy who would come downstairs to the kitchen for a drink at the Prine household and always leave to rejoin his friends on a humorous note.

"You're a funny guy, Max," Prine would say to him.

"Thank you, Mr. Prine," Max would say.

In an obituary printed on the memorial programs, the Barry's bid farewell to their "precious boy."

"Max was our beloved boy. He made us laugh and he made us crazy. We will never hear him say momma or pops again. We will never dance at his wedding or celebrate another milestone with him. But we will remember him for the sweet, sweet soul that he was. The soul that was restless and calm and free and beautiful and kind. Max was the kindest person we ever knew." 

Memorial contributions can be made in Max’s name to the Oasis Center or the Nashville Humane Association.

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