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09-30-02, 06:42 AM
I got some really terrible news the other day.
Andreas Gutmanis, my elementary school music teacher and my childhood violin teacher, died last week. He had had a cycling accident and injured his head. I don't know if he had been wearing a helmet. The injury itself was not fatal, but Mr. Gutmanis was a haemopheliac, and he died later the same day in the hospital. He was in his sixties, I believe.
As if the story isn't depressing enough, I have heard that he had been working less as a high school music teacher -- taking progessive retirement, I suspect -- in order to care for his wife, who is dying of cancer.
Along with my father and paternal grandfather, Mr. Gutmanis was one of the people who most influenced my love of music. He somehow made it real and had an incredible ability to share his passion. I remember, in grade two, along with all of the Orff method xylophones and glockenspiels, he had a huge poster on the music room wall with the names of the great classical composers listed in a time-line of styles. I memorised that poster and, if I close my eyes, I can see it vivdly to this day, almost 30 years later.
He used to say "Bach, Beethoven and Brahms are the Three B's of music... but only Brahms himself ever really believed he belonged in the company of Bach and Beethoven."
He was not a patient man, but he put up with my antics when he taught me the violin. I hated to practice and, he once confided, so did he. The only time I ever saw him lose it was when he had packed all of his gear into the trunk of his car... except his violin [not the good one, thank God!], which he promptly backed over.
I last saw Mr. Gutmanis this summer, when I was out on a ride. We had stopped at Stewart Hall in Pointe Claire so my companion could take a nature break. I waited outside, and I saw him about to enter the community center. He was still giving lessons and he was still conducting the local youth orchestra -- which had a concert later that week.
"Aren't you Andreas Gutmanis?" I asked. [He was hard to miss -- tall, lean, with musical genius lanky hair]
"Yes... aren't you Matt? You were a student of mine many years ago, no?" He remembered me, despite three decades and probably the thousands of students he's had since then. "I hope you're still as interested in music."
I assured him I was, to which he said "good," which made mee feel like I'd something to satisfy my old teacher's high standards. He gave me a handbill for the concert, wished me luck and hurried in to give a lesson.
I didn't go to the concert, though now I really wish I had.
I can't begin to express how sad all of this makes me. Andreas Gutmanis was good man. I am a better person for having known him.
Andreas Gutmanis, my elementary school music teacher and my childhood violin teacher, died last week. He had had a cycling accident and injured his head. I don't know if he had been wearing a helmet. The injury itself was not fatal, but Mr. Gutmanis was a haemopheliac, and he died later the same day in the hospital. He was in his sixties, I believe.
As if the story isn't depressing enough, I have heard that he had been working less as a high school music teacher -- taking progessive retirement, I suspect -- in order to care for his wife, who is dying of cancer.
Along with my father and paternal grandfather, Mr. Gutmanis was one of the people who most influenced my love of music. He somehow made it real and had an incredible ability to share his passion. I remember, in grade two, along with all of the Orff method xylophones and glockenspiels, he had a huge poster on the music room wall with the names of the great classical composers listed in a time-line of styles. I memorised that poster and, if I close my eyes, I can see it vivdly to this day, almost 30 years later.
He used to say "Bach, Beethoven and Brahms are the Three B's of music... but only Brahms himself ever really believed he belonged in the company of Bach and Beethoven."
He was not a patient man, but he put up with my antics when he taught me the violin. I hated to practice and, he once confided, so did he. The only time I ever saw him lose it was when he had packed all of his gear into the trunk of his car... except his violin [not the good one, thank God!], which he promptly backed over.
I last saw Mr. Gutmanis this summer, when I was out on a ride. We had stopped at Stewart Hall in Pointe Claire so my companion could take a nature break. I waited outside, and I saw him about to enter the community center. He was still giving lessons and he was still conducting the local youth orchestra -- which had a concert later that week.
"Aren't you Andreas Gutmanis?" I asked. [He was hard to miss -- tall, lean, with musical genius lanky hair]
"Yes... aren't you Matt? You were a student of mine many years ago, no?" He remembered me, despite three decades and probably the thousands of students he's had since then. "I hope you're still as interested in music."
I assured him I was, to which he said "good," which made mee feel like I'd something to satisfy my old teacher's high standards. He gave me a handbill for the concert, wished me luck and hurried in to give a lesson.
I didn't go to the concert, though now I really wish I had.
I can't begin to express how sad all of this makes me. Andreas Gutmanis was good man. I am a better person for having known him.