A Tribute to George Laubmeier (G3)

George Laubmeier passed away early yesterday morning.  He was a teacher, an artist, and a very strong influence in our parish, school and theatre communities.  I think by most standards, he was relatively young, yet his biography spans from many states and many vocations.  My family first knew him as the music and computer teacher at St. Mary’s school, and then as the piano teacher.  My sons knew him in the same way – for the past dozen or more years, since their first years in kindergarten he was Mr. Laubmeier, their teacher.

George Laubmeier’s death was a shock.  We saw him at Mass on Sunday morning, like we often did.  The next day, I came to work on Monday and heard that he had passed away.

For my part, and from those that I have spoken to, it was completely unexpected. 

After I heard the news, I sent a text to my son Jacob and to my wife to let them know.  Jonah has no phone and I knew he would be walking to the library to see Emily immediately after school.  I assumed he probably would have been told the news at school because the teachers would have been visibly shaken, and would not have left it unexplained.  I wanted Emily to be prepared – and, of course, she was. 

She explained later that Jonah arrived and hugged her and told her the news immediately.  He wanted comfort.  It was difficult news and he needed some time to sort it out.  He spent several hours quietly looking though books.  He stayed in the same room where Emily was working, but he was mostly just being thoughtful.

Before they left for the evening, Jonah seemed much better – he was talkative and his same happy self.  Nevertheless, Jonah had obviously been thinking about Mr. Laubmeier and his experiences with him.  

My boys are not strangers to death – their mom struggled with breast cancer for six and a half years, and she passed away before either of them had reached their teens.  Nevertheless, death is troubling and hard for anyone to understand.

Last night when I arrived home and as we were making dinner, we were all taking about what a surprise it was that Mr. Laubmeier passed away so suddenly.  Jacob had not had a chance to speak with us yet, so he just wanted to talk and share his reactions.  Jonah was sharing his own surprise.  We spoke about how we had just seen Mr. Laubmeier at the 10:30 mass the day before.  We spoke about how both boys had been working all week on their piano pieces that Mr. Laubmeier had assigned them.  We spoke about how they were planning to see Mr. Laubmeier on Wednesday for their weekly lesson. 

I think that part was what was most unsettling.  The suddenness of it all.  We expect a normal routine, and then when we come to that point in our day when we are supposed to meet the person who is no longer there, we realize that there is a blank sense of emptiness where that person was normally to be found.  And then there is the added realization that the blank would never be filled in quite the same way again.  It can be sobering.

We talked.  Then, in his unexpected way, Jonah gave an unsolicited tribute to Mr. Laubmeier.  The simple elegance of his words struck me as rather poetic.  He said, “Today, I was thinking…  Mr. Laubmeier always told us to read the music instead of just playing by ear, because if you don’t, then you never really know what the next note is supposed to be… and you know, that is a lot like life.  If you do not pay attention to what is happening around you, then you never know what to expect.”

It was a wonderful insight – and so very true to Jonah.  Jacob and Jonah both inherited their mother’s gift for music, and they have a unique ability to sit down at the piano and figure out a song that they heard, even without seeing or reading the music.  It is a mixed blessing.  The boys are never without music to play, but at the same time their highly tuned ears may play only an approximation of the music without really matching the notes.  They find the tune and the melody and begin “enhancing” the music (tempo, notes, style) to reflect what they wish it were, rather than what it actually was. 

The gifted ear can undermine the discipline of the fingers, and this came up often during their piano practice with George Laubmeier.  Since they were very young, both boys had a tendency to “cheat” and play by ear, rather than actually read the music.  It got to the point when Mr. Laubmeier had to stop playing the music pieces before he assigned them because if Jonah heard it, he would simply memorize the piece and replicate it by ear (only pretending to read the music in front of him).  Mr. Laubmeier quickly recognized what was happening, and put a stop to it.  He wanted them to read the music, and to respond to what they were seeing – and not only to what they were hearing. 

It was a matter of discipline.  Laubmeier wanted the boys to read the notes as they were written, and then play what they saw first in order to truly understand the piece.  It requires discipline to make sure the right fingers are hitting the right keys in the way that the music requires.  Mr. Laubmeier kept reminding them to stay true to music, which was their ultimate guide.  If, after they had internalized the piece, then they could enhance the music and the improvisations would come out more naturally.

From the time they were very little boys, these were constant refrains from Mr. Laubmeier.  He spoke to both of them about it, though he likely reminded Jonah most frequently. 

Jonah’s observation was both a memory of his time sitting beside Mr. Laubmeier, and it was also a reflection on what he learned from his mentor.  He remembered just one of the many bits of wisdom that Mr. Laubmeier imparted to him during their weekly sessions.  In this case, Jonah applied the bit of wisdom to the larger picture of his own life.  I am sure he will recall more of these from time to time, as the moments present themselves.

I felt instantly proud of my sons.

I added my own thoughts to Jonah’s comment and said, “And in some cases… even if you are reading the notes, you may find yourself turning the page and discovering that it is blank… your song has ended unexpectantly.”  I think I stretched the metaphor a little beyond its capacity, but I continued anyway, “If you are not following the music, you might not be prepared.  This means that when play, you should play it fully as if it may end at any time.”  The boys understood without my having to explain it.

I shared with the boys what they already knew.  We were all surprised by George’s passing, and we were all immediately saddened by the loss.  And yet, death is not really about our grief.  When someone passes from this world to the next, it has very little to do with our intentions or our goals.  It is about the completeness of their lives.  It is not about the loss in our own.

In this case, when we think about it from a distance, I think we could say that George’s life was complete.  His music sheet was full, even if it seemed to end abruptly. 

Mr. Laubmeier’s last day was spent playing organ for the start of Catholic School’s week.  Kids from all grades were participating in the Mass – reading at the lector, bringing up the gifts, collecting the offering, and singing in the choir.  He had not taught at the school for some years, and yet they all recognized Mr. Laubmeier and knew him as a fixture in the music program.

There was a moment from that last morning that came to mind when I was talking with the boys.  The children’s mass is always a joy to hear with the high voices singing in such excitement and passion.  Last Sunday, the organ stood out a little more clearly and I recall wondering if the organ was pre-recorded or if it was being played live.  At the time, I did not bother to turn around, but the question kept coming to mind from time to time with each new song.  After the consecration and before the distribution of the Eucharist, I was kneeling in the pew and praying, and I saw all the St. Mary’s students file down the aisle to receive communion.  Near the end of the line was Mr. Laubmeier.  I remember thinking to myself then… “Of course, George would be there… He was playing the organ.  He loves playing for those kids.” 

It was just a passing thought with no sense of foreknowledge or any particular importance at the time.  Only after the fact – after next morning when I heard of his passing, did the memory return.

George Laubmeier was devoted to the school and to the kids, and I am sure that each one felt his influence in one way or another.  He always had dozens of individual piano students, and he must have taught hundreds of them over the years.  At the school proper, he must have reached thousands of kids — many of whom are now adults with kids of their own.  In hindsight, it was fitting that he had a chance to play one last time for the students.

I do not know the details of his passing, and it is rarely relevant.  George’s life ended very suddenly for us and for his family.  Shockingly so.  I cannot pretend to fully understand what it must feel like for those who were closest to him.  My family had the benefit of more than six years to prepare for the passing of Deb.  By the time she left, we were as ready as she was.  It is different when the passing comes so suddenly.  It must be numbing.

And yet, I think it would be a mistake to think of it from that perspective only. 

Laubmeier’s life was very complete.  In the course of his tasks and his influence on those around him, he was a success.  I never heard that he was planning to end his lessons, or his teaching, or his involvement in the greater community.  And yet, even during his life there was a strong sense of “completeness.” 

At the last piano recital in April, there was a spirit of remembrance – an anniversary of a very long history of working and developing young talent at Richland Center.  It was a celebratory recital, not only for the students but for Mr. Laubmeier.  He accomplished a great deal and even without formal retirement, we all recognized that his life was very full. 

On a personal level, we would have wanted him to continue teaching until there were no more children to teach.  I have no doubt that we all wished for more time and more experience with him.  Though we could not have foreseen an immediate end, I think we also understood that George did not have to continue teaching, and he did not have to continue his involvement in the community for his own benefit.  He did so because he loved doing it.  George had no lack of achievements and personal influence.  His life was very complete as it was.

Of course… we would want him to always be here.  We always want our loved ones to stay put and to stay with us.  But that does not really account for (much less influence) the grand plan of George’s life, which is necessarily a mystery for us.  God’s ways are not our ways, and we cannot… we should not… judge them according to what we wish. 

Instead, we should find the wisdom in what they are.

Death is always hard for those who are left behind.  Even from the start, though, God did not create death.  He created life, and He always saves.  God does not cause evil and hope that good comes from it — there is evil in the world and there is death in the world because man sinned first.  It did not come from God.  Yet, despite that sin and our own mistakes, God still saves us daily.  He does not create evil, but He can transform whatever evil we come across into something good.  If we let Him. 

Unexpected death is shocking, but in the shared grief we also get to see the world from a different perspective – we get to see the genuine love of our neighbors, we get to see the love of our community.  Death can and should bring family and friends and loved ones together.  In that, we see and feel the impact that our loved ones left behind.  We can see the fullness of a life complete – no matter at what age it ended.  This can be a beautiful thing.

As Jonah reminded me, we just need to pay attention to the music as it is written.  We need to read each note as it comes, and appreciate the music as it is and not as our ears would like it to be.  Then we can feel the full beauty as it was intended.

Goodbye, George.