Deborah Krainin
Since these tributes began I’ve been wondering: Did I appreciate him enough? Did I remember enough? Did I understand him enough? How is it that 29 years later I can go back with so much emotion in my heart and so much sadness at this loss? What does it mean to suddenly feel a rush like this when I hadn’t carried him with me everyday? Then I remember that what I have always carried with me was not only the music, but the way music is made. It isn’t just from our voices, or our sternums (as we all got poked there), but it’s the way music is made with our spirits. That he might have awakened that part of me without my knowing. As a teacher I demand “the best” from my students. They know it and they appreciate it. I walk into every classroom full of energy, enthusiasm and joy because I’m happy to be there and I’m happy to see them. But that doesn’t mean I don’t reveal my frustrations. They know when I’m disappointed because I show it. They work to please because I work to bring out the best that is within them. As I sit and read all these moving posts it dawns on me in a way never before that I did carry this man who loved us, screamed at us, showed us, gifted us: everyday. I’m more grateful now than I was then. I have the chance to look back and to love him more than I did then. Everyone on this site reminds me that he was a conduit for all of us. Something wonderful that flows through us. Something extraordinary that sings through us. And through of all of us and these remembrances he sings back into the world and into life. And for that, I am eternally grateful. Thank you Mr. Trautwein.
Deborah Krainin
At the choir rehearsal days before my class graduation, most students had their sheet music folders scattered on the floor. For some reason Mr. Trautwein singled me out and said, “everyone pick up your folders, don’t be a filthy pig like Debby.” I was so upset I burst into tears as soon as class was over. I’d never had a problem with him before or been the recipient of his tirades. I found him in the commons sitting with a few teachers on a bench. I looked him in the eye and told him he couldn’t speak to me like that, that it was unjust and that I wanted an apology. I was seething. He said (his face turning red) “in my office, now!” We marched into the back of the LGI and we sat down. He started to smile at me, sort of making these childlike faces. I glared at him, seriously furious with how he’d spoken to me, telling him, “those smiles won’t work on me this time Mr. Trautwein.” He made light of it and said he was sorry. I said it wasn’t enough, he had humiliated me in front of the class. At the next practice he sort of whispered his apology in front of the class and looked at me. “Not loud enough,” I said. Then he cleared his throat and said it again, louder. I didn’t feel better but I felt satisfied. When I look back now I realize that he didn’t have to apologize at all, but he chose to. Whether he did it for my self-esteem or because he felt it was right, I don’t know. But looking back, I realize, it was an important gesture. Reading everyone’s posts reminds me of the joy and laughter that permeated all of the concerts, musicals, and trips taken. Not that I’d forgotten them but I’d let them slip away to a less important place. As a teacher I demand the best from my students, something that I always acknowledge my Blind Brook teachers for. Even though I teach at the university level, it’s Blind Brook and my teachers there that instilled in me a sense of possibility and of rising to and meeting the challenges I faced. Something I try to always impart to my students. When I read these wonderful honors to Mr. Trautwein and his memory I am reminded that part of what makes the best stand out from the mediocre is dedication, commitment and perseverance. He had all of that, and a lot of talent to boot. Sometimes it's in the remembering that a memory becomes not only collective, but also like a universe made whole again. I remember him as a very complicated person for me to understand, but I think that's because he was wholly alive and passionate in every moment with his students. I learned so much from him and all of you are reminding me of just how much. Clearly his flame burns brightly in these wonderful tributes. I had forgotten how much of that flame has helped light my way. I thank everyone for reminding me of that, and for making that long ago universe made whole once more.
Since these tributes began I’ve been wondering: Did I appreciate him enough? Did I remember enough? Did I understand him enough? How is it that 29 years later I can go back with so much emotion in my heart and so much sadness at this loss? What does it mean to suddenly feel a rush like this when I hadn’t carried him with me everyday? Then I remember that what I have always carried with me was not only the music, but the way music is made. It isn’t just from our voices, or our sternums (as we all got poked there), but it’s the way music is made with our spirits. That he might have awakened that part of me without my knowing. As a teacher I demand “the best” from my students. They know it and they appreciate it. I walk into every classroom full of energy, enthusiasm and joy because I’m happy to be there and I’m happy to see them. But that doesn’t mean I don’t reveal my frustrations. They know when I’m disappointed because I show it. They work to please because I work to bring out the best that is within them. As I sit and read all these moving posts it dawns on me in a way never before that I did carry this man who loved us, screamed at us, showed us, gifted us: everyday. I’m more grateful now than I was then. I have the chance to look back and to love him more than I did then. Everyone on this site reminds me that he was a conduit for all of us. Something wonderful that flows through us. Something extraordinary that sings through us. And through of all of us and these remembrances he sings back into the world and into life. And for that, I am eternally grateful. Thank you Mr. Trautwein.
Deborah Krainin
At the choir rehearsal days before my class graduation, most students had their sheet music folders scattered on the floor. For some reason Mr. Trautwein singled me out and said, “everyone pick up your folders, don’t be a filthy pig like Debby.” I was so upset I burst into tears as soon as class was over. I’d never had a problem with him before or been the recipient of his tirades. I found him in the commons sitting with a few teachers on a bench. I looked him in the eye and told him he couldn’t speak to me like that, that it was unjust and that I wanted an apology. I was seething. He said (his face turning red) “in my office, now!” We marched into the back of the LGI and we sat down. He started to smile at me, sort of making these childlike faces. I glared at him, seriously furious with how he’d spoken to me, telling him, “those smiles won’t work on me this time Mr. Trautwein.” He made light of it and said he was sorry. I said it wasn’t enough, he had humiliated me in front of the class. At the next practice he sort of whispered his apology in front of the class and looked at me. “Not loud enough,” I said. Then he cleared his throat and said it again, louder. I didn’t feel better but I felt satisfied. When I look back now I realize that he didn’t have to apologize at all, but he chose to. Whether he did it for my self-esteem or because he felt it was right, I don’t know. But looking back, I realize, it was an important gesture. Reading everyone’s posts reminds me of the joy and laughter that permeated all of the concerts, musicals, and trips taken. Not that I’d forgotten them but I’d let them slip away to a less important place. As a teacher I demand the best from my students, something that I always acknowledge my Blind Brook teachers for. Even though I teach at the university level, it’s Blind Brook and my teachers there that instilled in me a sense of possibility and of rising to and meeting the challenges I faced. Something I try to always impart to my students. When I read these wonderful honors to Mr. Trautwein and his memory I am reminded that part of what makes the best stand out from the mediocre is dedication, commitment and perseverance. He had all of that, and a lot of talent to boot. Sometimes it's in the remembering that a memory becomes not only collective, but also like a universe made whole again. I remember him as a very complicated person for me to understand, but I think that's because he was wholly alive and passionate in every moment with his students. I learned so much from him and all of you are reminding me of just how much. Clearly his flame burns brightly in these wonderful tributes. I had forgotten how much of that flame has helped light my way. I thank everyone for reminding me of that, and for making that long ago universe made whole once more.
