Del Shortliffe
It is so hard to write about George – and to write about all the wonderful students who have paid tribute to him on this site. I loved his exhuberance, his classiness, his indivuality, and his passion for music, song, and students. But I find it hard to explain how deeply I cherish the thoughts of those early years at Blind Brook, years that he helped form and define and personify. All those of you who were students then, and who celebrate his memory now, exemplify the unique and lovely school that we all built, or at least inhabited. It was a great blessing to be a Blind Brook teacher then. Then there were fewer walls and more embraces. And George Trautwein was one great embracer. When we all devoted ourselves to creativity, he was a champion of new creations. He reached out to all – students and colleagues – and helped define a special time, in a rare era, that we were blessed to share. I hope you all agree that I am not romanticizing the past. George Trautwein’s years at Blind Brook were special years, not just for music and theater and acting (and we should praise my great friend Pete Tarshis here, too). They were special years for education. I am, this year, retiring after 37 years of teaching in New York. I have loved students and classes and even schools beyond Blind Brook. But nothing else in my career can match the special blessing of those vastly creative and wondrously strange, unique years when Blind Brook was being born, and George Trautwein was one of those -- along with David Schein, Roger Smith, David Press, Wilbur Johnson, and so many others -- who led the way. I came to Blind Brook young and alive and alert and ready to try anything. And at Blind Brook I found a home where everyone said that anything heartfelt and smart was actually worth trying. George – with his passion, his artfulness, his intolerance for mediocrity and his celebration of individuality – was one of the spiritual leaders of that great time. Who among us cannot love him for that? I’m so sad to know he’s gone. I bow my head. I strive to revere such memories.
It is so hard to write about George – and to write about all the wonderful students who have paid tribute to him on this site. I loved his exhuberance, his classiness, his indivuality, and his passion for music, song, and students. But I find it hard to explain how deeply I cherish the thoughts of those early years at Blind Brook, years that he helped form and define and personify. All those of you who were students then, and who celebrate his memory now, exemplify the unique and lovely school that we all built, or at least inhabited. It was a great blessing to be a Blind Brook teacher then. Then there were fewer walls and more embraces. And George Trautwein was one great embracer. When we all devoted ourselves to creativity, he was a champion of new creations. He reached out to all – students and colleagues – and helped define a special time, in a rare era, that we were blessed to share. I hope you all agree that I am not romanticizing the past. George Trautwein’s years at Blind Brook were special years, not just for music and theater and acting (and we should praise my great friend Pete Tarshis here, too). They were special years for education. I am, this year, retiring after 37 years of teaching in New York. I have loved students and classes and even schools beyond Blind Brook. But nothing else in my career can match the special blessing of those vastly creative and wondrously strange, unique years when Blind Brook was being born, and George Trautwein was one of those -- along with David Schein, Roger Smith, David Press, Wilbur Johnson, and so many others -- who led the way. I came to Blind Brook young and alive and alert and ready to try anything. And at Blind Brook I found a home where everyone said that anything heartfelt and smart was actually worth trying. George – with his passion, his artfulness, his intolerance for mediocrity and his celebration of individuality – was one of the spiritual leaders of that great time. Who among us cannot love him for that? I’m so sad to know he’s gone. I bow my head. I strive to revere such memories.
