Many years ago I was a freshman in college, trying to figure out how to cross over as a performer from rock and roll to folk music. My mentor-from-a-distance was a talented young musician named Josh White, Jr. who was doing amazing guitar work on his father’s records. Fast-forward to 2006, when I had the opportunity to start Lost Voices. The first person I recruited to work with me was that same Josh White, Jr.
When I told Josh my idea of therapeutic songwriting with troubled teenagers, he was convinced that I was completely out of my mind. He also agreed to help me give it a try. Then for the next two decades, he partnered with me to help make Lost Voices what it is today.
On December 27, 2024, Josh White, Jr. (Donnie to his friends) left this world for the Next Great Adventure.
I can honestly say that I have never known a more loving spirit. His gentle soul inspired everyone who met him. His voice carried the songs he sang into our hearts. He had an infectious booming laugh that could brighten any room.
Josh toured the world from the time he was a child, performing with his father, then on his own. He had a Tony award and a Grammy nomination. He co-wrote a song with Marvin Hamlisch. He was a high school buddy of Christopher Walken. His godmother was Eleanor Roosevelt – she gave him his first puppy – and there is so much more. The man was genuine national treasure.
Yet he always had time and kindness to share with his friends. Or, for that matter, with just about anybody he met. As a Lost Voices team member he could deeply connect with our kids. When they struggled to find the courage to step up to the mic, his quiet confidence could surround them with a bubble of safety. Without him as my partner, I’m not sure I would have been able to get this whole mission off the ground. Thankfully, together we did.
So Donnie, I have to say that I miss you every day, and that I will always be grateful that you were in my life. A whole lot of kids are better today because you and I carried our guitars into my weird experiment all those years ago, and then kept on doing it.
Farewell, my dear friend.
