Hillary Ross
Since learning last night of Trauty’s passing, I have not been able to stop singing. And all of the words are coming out of my mouth with the precise diction that he always required of us. The memories are flooding back, too. How fortunate we all are to have been his students; he brought us the gift of song, and so much more. It is obvious from reading all of your posts that we learned so very much from him – about music, about manners, about ourselves, about being good people, about life.
George knew how much dance meant to me, and was the only person who always, always, always encouraged me to keep up my pursuit. When I entered the BOCES “gifted and talented” program in voice at SUNY, he discovered that there was the equivalent in dance, and was instrumental in helping me audition for and transfer into the dance program instead, a program which ended up being crucial in my development as a modern dancer.
But his support didn’t stop after I graduated BBHS. He drove to Wesleyan with my parents (no small feat!) to see my first choreography on stage in a beautiful theater, bringing me a fantastic coffee table book on ballet that he inscribed. (I’ve been missing this book for years, and think a former housemate may have unfortunately absconded with it....) And in all of the time after college, when we corresponded by letter, his first questions were always about my dancing, and then about my family.
The last time I saw George was probably about 5.5 years ago. He and Michael were in Boston for a family wedding, and I was fortunate to have an opportunity to meet them for lunch (George picked The Cheesecake Factory). I was going through cancer treatment at the time, and there I was with my baldy head, and George with his Parkinson’s shakes, and Michael telling us how no food should be stored in plastic containers, only glass (I agreed, but George poo-poo’d the whole thing, which was a riot!). At that time, we talked about how I’d segued from my modern dance career into dancing and teaching Argentine tango, and we’d later joke about my going down to FL to teach tango to some old folks (or maybe we weren’t joking??).
I had been thinking about Trauty a lot of late, and about how it had been some time since I wrote to him, aside from the Christmas card photo of my dog in December. His writing over the years became shakier and more difficult to read as his Parkinson’s progressed, but shining through every single note was his enormous love, respect, and support. Rest in peace dear George; what a truly special human being you were. Thank you for always believing in me. ♥
Comments:
Cynthia Mesh
Dearest Hillary - you are not alone in those feelings about fitting in - so many of us, and I bet so many of us posting here, felt the same way. The special thing about George was that he made everybody feel that they fit in exactly where they were supposed to be - in that choir and on that stage and in that high school. While the glow certainly didn't cover up all the other feelings when not in the LGI, it was life-saving to some, me among them. That's not an overstatement. I've thought it to myself for many years, and I share it now because I'm pretty sure I'm not alone.
Since learning last night of Trauty’s passing, I have not been able to stop singing. And all of the words are coming out of my mouth with the precise diction that he always required of us. The memories are flooding back, too. How fortunate we all are to have been his students; he brought us the gift of song, and so much more. It is obvious from reading all of your posts that we learned so very much from him – about music, about manners, about ourselves, about being good people, about life.
George knew how much dance meant to me, and was the only person who always, always, always encouraged me to keep up my pursuit. When I entered the BOCES “gifted and talented” program in voice at SUNY, he discovered that there was the equivalent in dance, and was instrumental in helping me audition for and transfer into the dance program instead, a program which ended up being crucial in my development as a modern dancer.
But his support didn’t stop after I graduated BBHS. He drove to Wesleyan with my parents (no small feat!) to see my first choreography on stage in a beautiful theater, bringing me a fantastic coffee table book on ballet that he inscribed. (I’ve been missing this book for years, and think a former housemate may have unfortunately absconded with it....) And in all of the time after college, when we corresponded by letter, his first questions were always about my dancing, and then about my family.
The last time I saw George was probably about 5.5 years ago. He and Michael were in Boston for a family wedding, and I was fortunate to have an opportunity to meet them for lunch (George picked The Cheesecake Factory). I was going through cancer treatment at the time, and there I was with my baldy head, and George with his Parkinson’s shakes, and Michael telling us how no food should be stored in plastic containers, only glass (I agreed, but George poo-poo’d the whole thing, which was a riot!). At that time, we talked about how I’d segued from my modern dance career into dancing and teaching Argentine tango, and we’d later joke about my going down to FL to teach tango to some old folks (or maybe we weren’t joking??).
I had been thinking about Trauty a lot of late, and about how it had been some time since I wrote to him, aside from the Christmas card photo of my dog in December. His writing over the years became shakier and more difficult to read as his Parkinson’s progressed, but shining through every single note was his enormous love, respect, and support. Rest in peace dear George; what a truly special human being you were. Thank you for always believing in me. ♥
Comments:
Cynthia Mesh
Dearest Hillary - you are not alone in those feelings about fitting in - so many of us, and I bet so many of us posting here, felt the same way. The special thing about George was that he made everybody feel that they fit in exactly where they were supposed to be - in that choir and on that stage and in that high school. While the glow certainly didn't cover up all the other feelings when not in the LGI, it was life-saving to some, me among them. That's not an overstatement. I've thought it to myself for many years, and I share it now because I'm pretty sure I'm not alone.
