Carrying Forward the Light: Honoring Michael “Mic” Russell Thierry

Some people walk into a room and instantly command attention. Others enter quietly, changing the atmosphere not with volume, but with presence. Michael Russell Thierry—affectionately known as Mic—was the kind of soul whose light didn’t blind; it warmed. He led with brilliance, tempered always by humility, and his legacy continues to ripple outward like light across water.

Mic was not just a co-founder, not merely a contributor to our mission—he was the soul of the work. He didn’t stay in the background. He didn’t seek the front row either. He stood firmly at the heart—steadily, compassionately, holding space for everyone else to rise. He was the kind of leader whose strength came from stillness, whose guidance came not just through direction, but through genuine care and belief in others.

Those of us who had the honor of working alongside him witnessed how Mic built not just programs or content—but people. With every story he helped craft, every young person he mentored, and every idea he nurtured from seed to bloom, he brought his full self: a listener, an artist, a quiet architect of transformation.

A Gentle Force

Mic believed in the radical, everyday magic of showing up. He didn’t have to speak the loudest to be heard. He didn’t have to take credit to leave a mark. Whether he was teaching, mentoring, editing, or simply holding space for someone in a tough moment, he offered something increasingly rare: his full attention, his full heart.

“He didn’t just speak—he listened. He didn’t just create—he cultivated. He didn’t just lead—he lifted.”

His fingerprints are etched into the roots of everything we do. His wisdom is in the way we approach storytelling, the way we build trust in our communities, the way we teach young people to believe in their own voices. Every tree we plant, every workshop we host, every courageous story shared—Mic is there, present in the foundation and the flourishing.

Behind-the-Scenes Magic: The Quiet Architect

There’s a memory that lives vividly in the hearts of many of us: a late night, long after midnight, at his home office on Mass Avenue across from the Berklee School of Music. Outside, the city was quiet, the hum of streetlights softly filling the windowpanes. Inside, Mic was hunched over his laptop, headphones on, editing a student’s short film for an upcoming youth storytelling showcase.

He wasn’t on a deadline. He could’ve passed it along to someone else. But that wasn’t Mic. Every frame mattered to him, because he believed the student’s story mattered. He sliced the footage with reverence, carefully shaping each moment with intention. When he finally finished the export, hours later, he left a simple handwritten note for the student:

“Your story moved me. Thank you for letting it breathe.”

That’s who he was. Not someone chasing recognition—but someone giving recognition, quietly, lovingly. A man who stayed until the work was right, not because anyone would know, but because the story—and the storyteller—deserved that respect.

Planting Confidence, One Voice at a Time

Mic had a gift for seeing potential where others might miss it. One afternoon, a nervous teen named Neeca brought him her first layout design for our magazine—a Top 10 Songs feature. She was unsure, almost apologetic, pointing out everything she thought she could’ve done better.

Mic didn’t critique it like a mentor checking for errors. He received it like a gift. He asked why she chose each song, what the colors meant to her, what emotion she was hoping to evoke with the typography.

Then he said, with warmth in his voice:

“You’re not just curating sound—you’re mapping feeling. That’s a designer’s ear and an artist’s eye.”

Those words stayed with Neeca. She later shared that it was the first time she believed she had a place in the world of media. She printed that layout and pasted it in her journal, keeping Mic’s sticky note beside it as a reminder that her voice mattered.

Mic had that effect on people—not just validating their talent, but giving them a deeper sense of belonging, of being seen.

A Legacy of Listening

In a world full of noise, Mic taught us the power of listening. Not the kind of listening that waits for its turn to speak, but the kind that hears between the lines. He listened for what wasn’t said. He listened with his eyes, with his body, with his full attention.

Young people opened up to him—not because he demanded their trust, but because he earned it. Elders gravitated toward him because he honored their stories. Peers cherished him because he modeled what community could look like when built on empathy and mutual respect.

He didn’t just teach storytelling—he embodied it. He lived as someone deeply aware that our stories are sacred, and that telling them—truthfully, bravely—can change the world.

Carrying Forward the Light

Mic’s absence is deeply felt. His laugh. His quiet brilliance. His gentle encouragement. But just as deeply, his presence endures—in every page we publish, in every youth we mentor, in every seed we plant in the soil and in the soul.

His spirit is in the way we slow down and really see one another. It’s in

Mic, we miss you. We carry your legacy in our work, in our relationships, in our vision for what’s possible.

Thank you for the way you loved, the way you gave, the way you believed. Thank you for the late nights, the quiet encouragements, the fierce dedication. Thank you for teaching us that the most powerful light isn’t always the loudest—but it’s always the most enduring.gnited something in all of us.

And that light lives on.

Always.

—Amaris Taelun for Black Coral Inc.

Volunteer/Freelance Blogger