In memory of Joshua Marks
October 11 of last year, evening. Dinner was beef Wellington and glazed carrots. One couple had brought whipped potatoes, another a salad. After everyone had left, the hubs helped me gather dirty dishes into the sink. I pulled on my gloves and began rinsing the stemware.My cell phone rang. Who would be calling me so late?“It’s Monti,” John said after checking my caller ID.“I’ll call her back after I’m done with the dishes,” I said.My phone chimed again—this time, a text message.John said, “Dude, Josh killed himself,” or “Sh*t, Josh killed himself,” or “What the hell? Josh killed himself.” I can’t remember John’s exact words; all I can recall are the last three.I cried a lot that weekend. The next morning was the Houston open casting call for MasterChef season 5, and I was supposed to go rally the crowd’s morale. But I just couldn’t do it. Alvin and James both attended, and Alvin had sent me a video of some fans cheering—“Hi, Christine! We love you!”—as they stood in line waiting for their auditions. It managed to bring a small smile to my face, in spite of the ironic circumstances.This past Saturday marked the one year memorial of Josh’s death. The thought of Josh crosses my mind more frequently than I outwardly admit. I’m just the kind of person that likes to grieve certain losses in private.But lest I not forget, Josh was a good friend. We, along with our other fellow MasterChef contestants from season 3, shared several chaotic, fraternal weeks together. Josh had said when he’d first met me, he thought I was just about the squarest person on earth. Then after he got to know me, he said, “Christine, you a goofy-ass muthaf*cka!” We were always telling stories or performing silly antics to make each other laugh. When we were sequestered from our loved ones during filming, this was our family.“You my sista from another mutha,” Josh used to say to me. No one will ever forget that moment caught on camera when Josh showed me how to fold tortellini in the palm of his hand while we sat in the gallery during a pressure test. Above is a candid photo someone on crew had snapped of Josh and me after we'd cooked and been judged, but before a winner was announced. We were on "hard ice," meaning we weren't allowed to talk for production purposes (so our first verbal outpourings would happen in our confessionals). We weren't allowed to talk to each other, but we were praying together.After filming had wrapped and we’d all returned home to our respective cities, Josh and I would text or call each other at all hours, day or night. He’d call from work to tell me he was planning a road trip to Houston to visit me. I’d text him a picture every time I ate crawfish. He’d text me ice cream flavors he’d concocted, asking me how much I’d pay for a pint. I’d call him from the bar to see what he was doing on his Saturday night. He’d call me back at 2 AM, and we’d listen to Bob Marley together on the phone.That is the Josh I remember.This was written for him. May he live on fondly in our memories. Peace be with you, Joshua Roberto Marks.
- Visit the Josh R. Marks Memorial Fund and the National Alliance on Mental Illness to see how you can support.
- Read the Chicago magazine story about Josh’s battle with mental illness.