I was in the office when I heard the news, seated in a square of workstations. My boss was talking about program specs when a teammate turned and said, “Tim Curry died.”

I shoved back from the desk and shot out of my chair like it was an ejector seat. I exhaled sharply, holding in an expletive that can’t be printed in the paper. The sudden movement startled everyone, and their eyes were wide until my coworker repeated it.

“Oh,” my boss said. “I know that’s personal for you.”

He’s a churchgoing guy, so he knows I have this weird hobby that involves getting intoxicated and behaving badly. But he doesn’t know. Personal indeed.

It’s been a bad few days for the arts. First Dolly Parton, and then Tim. Both were singers and actors, though they were each primarily known for one over the other. Heads and tails of the same coin. Dolly has been eulogized at length, and the flags fly at half-staff. She gave books to children, money for vaccine research. Articles on Tim have mostly mentioned that he was both prolific and polished at his craft.

No matter what kinds of movies you like, it’s almost guaranteed you can find him in one. Want something to watch with the kids? “Clue” or “Muppet Treasure Island.” Want to get the crap scared out of you? Pennywise is waiting. There’s also a little flick you might have heard of – “The Rocky Horror Picture Show.”

The first time I saw it, I was 15. Reagan was president. It was a very unofficial field trip for my debate class to the Blue Mouse in downtown Salt Lake City. Even though I grew up in a permissive household, yelling bad words and throwing rice in a theater was delightfully naughty.

Then there was Tim.

Maybe what struck me most was how totally, completely, bravely he portrayed Dr. Frank-N-Furter. It’s the kind of role that needs to be inhabited completely, because if you doubt it even for a moment, it’s awkward instead of sexy, mocking instead of genuine. He played that role like a force of nature, and I was hooked.

I went back the next weekend and, by the one after that, I was onstage. Unlike many other places, Salt Lake had no cast and no emcee. I became the emcee, doing the shouty bits that bring the attendees into the action. I bought “The Rocky Horror Picture Show Audience Par-Tic-I-Pation” album to learn the callbacks. It’s a live recording of a screening from New York’s 8th Street Playhouse with Sal Piro, and the audience going full tilt.

That was nearly four decades ago, and I’m still here doing the Time Warp. If you’ve been to a Salt Lake City show in that time, you’ve seen me in front of the screen, and you might have had fun — or you may have wished I’d shut up so you could watch the movie. Either way, maybe you thought it’s just a silly film and it doesn’t matter.

Except you’d be wrong. See, “Rocky Horror” has a secret.

It’s hard right now to be different. It’s always been hard, but there’s a viciousness in the way we interact with those outside our own group these days. And for young people who are already fragile and trying to figure out their place in the world, that viciousness can be deadly. It’s not an exaggeration when I say that, every year, at least one person tells me that this silly film literally saved their life.

Here’s a place where you’re welcome no matter who you are; the tagline of “Don’t Dream It, Be It” resonates in the dark places and drowns out the voices telling you that you don’t belong, you’re wrong or sick or you don’t deserve love. The simple act of recognition, that you are seen and accepted — that’s the secret and magic that Tim gave us. A movie that flopped when it released, was panned by critics and shunted off to midnight showings is still playing more than 50 years later because it embraces the outsider in us all.

I never got to meet Tim Curry in person. I bought a ticket to meet him when he was here in 2018, but I mixed up the dates. I had booked a trip to Europe, so I was either out a couple hundred dollars or a couple thousand. I thought he’d be back. Now I’ll never get to say this in person, but thank you for everything, Tim. What you did way back then still matters.

Susan Steffee has emceed Salt Lake City’s “Rocky Horror Picture Show” since 1987, making her one of the longest running performers in that role in the country. Salt Lake Film Society’s annual Halloween showing runs Oct. 29 to Oct. 31.

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