Jim Steinthal
I was sad to hear Mr. Trautwein passed away. Thank you Cynthia (Cyndy still to me, just like I'm Jimmy to you!) for creating this site. I've had difficulty keeping up with the barrage of postings, but the ones I've seen have been incredible -- sometimes heartbreaking and always inspiring. Thank you all for sharing your memories of Mr. Trautwein and Blind Brook. Special shot out to Matt Miller for his beautiful Washington Post and MSNBC pieces. Thanks for bringing Mr. Trautwein's legacy into public view and thanks also for making me slightly cooler by association in the eyes of my teenagers by airing a picture of Craig where I happen to be standing next to him.
BBHS in those early years was a such a special place. Sally and I were talking this week about it, how the small class sizes, vibrant and engaging teachers, supportive administration and open environment fostered such closeness and provided so many opportunities for growth and experience. It was great for someone like me who was academically and socially curious. Playing soccer for Hack made me feel like an athlete. I satisfied my nerd tendencies doing calculus in special sessions with Ms. Follman and hanging with Mr. Press in the computer room with my good friend Steve Benerofe and the other Mathletes and frisbee players. I got to dabble in politics/protests serving as a class rep to the ineffective BBSO and then being part of the group that voted to disband it and replace it with the equally ineffective but hipper "Concerned Students". The faculty was flat out amazing and the relationships we were able to have with them were special, which we could sense but at least I couldn't fully appreciate until I moved on to other schools. I especially enjoyed AP History with Mr. Johnson on days when he'd put his chalk down and go off-topic, usually about current events or what we could expect in college. And of course there was choir and the musicals with Mr. Trautwein. A memory I'd like to share:
We were in England, touring one of those old, awesome cathedrals, and as I remember it the concert choir was doing one of those unscheduled performances, probably started by Hope, grabbing Mr. Trautwein's forearm -- "Mr. Trautwein, can we sing?" -- but it could've been any number of others who asked him if we could sing in this magnificent space. Mr. Trautwein gave one of those impish grins, his eyes getting big. "Good idea!" It was probably his plan all along anyway. So we quietly lined up in formation, everybody knowing their places, not a naysayer in the group. We were excited too, feeling a little like we were stealing although not sure what.
We knew it would be "Lo". We knew it before Mr. Trautwein raised his arms, serious now, and whispered that one word -- Lo. And then it was happening. We were into it, nailing Lo in this wonderful setting. The cathedral got quiet except for the music we were creating with the sound of our voices. Spectators gathered around, listening and appreciating the impromptu performance, Mr. Trautwein conducting this small group of teenagers who were singing a beautiful old song and hanging on Mr. Trautwein's every movement.
And then I was cut out. It happened in an instant. With his left arm continuing to conduct the group, never pausing, Mr. Trautwein locked eyes with me, subtlely pointed his right arm towards me and gave me the short, circular, you're-cut-off motion. So I stopped singing. I continued to mouth the words so as not to draw any attention and Mr. Trautwein continued to conduct the group. We got a round of applause when the song ended and went on with our day. Mr. Trautwein never said anything to me about what happened.
It would happen again during the actual choral competition in Harrogate. I knew I couldn't sing like the rest of the group and understood that he didn't want me to hold back the performance. It was an unspoken but understood compact between us. I knew I didn't really belong in the concert choir given my lack of talent. This was the main reason I didn't try out for concert choir. Before the auditions, I went to Mr. Trautwein's office and told him that after a lot of thought I didn't think I should try out. I rationalized -- junior year was going to be really busy, I had a lot of tough classes, I did a lot of sports and activities, I didn't see how I could commit the time to concert choir, yadda yadda yadda. Mr. Trautwein told me he understood and respected me for thinking it through and coming to him about it. My inability to sing well never came up. I didn't go to the audition, but nonetheless my name was there when the concert choir list was posted.
I don't remember speaking with Mr. Trautwein about it again. I was in the concert choir so I went to rehearsals and life went on. I suppose this is all a very long way of saying I'm forever thankful I was lucky enough to make a connection with Mr. Trautwein even though I didn't have any roles in his shows or really belong on his stage. He made a place for me and I was grateful for it -- I'd have done anything for him. For me the lessons he imparted went way beyond the music. Perhaps the most remarkable was how he was able to be a strong leader and human at the same time. Every year we'd be a week away from Opening Night and we'd all think there's no way we're going to pull this show off, but Mr. Trautwein would make it happen through the sheer force of his spirit. It was miraculous really, getting about 100 teenagers to perform Gilbert & Sullivan in a theater the size of a living room, while somehow managing to keep it fun. He was dictorial and playful at the same time. He walked a fine line as the leader of the choir and those shows, and looking back I deeply respect him for how he walked it.
Love to you all. Best, Jim
P.S. One other thing. I always loved it when we'd be in choir class and a former student would visit unexpectedly. We'd be on the risers and Mr. Trautwein would be facing us, with his back to the doors of the LGI, so he wouldn't see the arrival but he'd sense it from our reaction. He'd turn around and see a Michael Feigin or a Scott Bierko, etc. (you know who you are) and Mr. Trautwein would absolutely light up. The class lesson would cease and a lovefest would begin, complete with Mr. Trautwein divulging the full history of the former student's vocal and personal growth since 7th grade, war stories from past shows, and, if we were lucky, some singing by Michael or Scott, etc. I think we all secretly looked forward to the day when we'd come back and stroll through those LGI doors unannounced.
David F. Uhry Dc:
"Lovefest" What an appropriate word to describe the way he loved everyone and everything.
Suzanne Kiyak McCarthy:
Jim, that was so perfect. I think Trauty always considered any one of us as his own. As a result we became a family. You showed his unconditional love beautifully. It didn't matter what our level of talent was, as long as we were there together. Thank you. Sue K.
Leslie Perlman Reiff:
Jim, you belonged there just as much as anyone else. Through your story I can sense the respect George had for you, and he wanted you to be a part of it all. Besides, he often experimented with that silly tuning fork that never seemed to work well(we laughed a lot with that one) so quite obviously none of us were perfect!!
Amy Salko Robertson:
I love the unbridled honesty Trauty has inspired. Thank you so much for sharing Jimmy :)
I was sad to hear Mr. Trautwein passed away. Thank you Cynthia (Cyndy still to me, just like I'm Jimmy to you!) for creating this site. I've had difficulty keeping up with the barrage of postings, but the ones I've seen have been incredible -- sometimes heartbreaking and always inspiring. Thank you all for sharing your memories of Mr. Trautwein and Blind Brook. Special shot out to Matt Miller for his beautiful Washington Post and MSNBC pieces. Thanks for bringing Mr. Trautwein's legacy into public view and thanks also for making me slightly cooler by association in the eyes of my teenagers by airing a picture of Craig where I happen to be standing next to him.
BBHS in those early years was a such a special place. Sally and I were talking this week about it, how the small class sizes, vibrant and engaging teachers, supportive administration and open environment fostered such closeness and provided so many opportunities for growth and experience. It was great for someone like me who was academically and socially curious. Playing soccer for Hack made me feel like an athlete. I satisfied my nerd tendencies doing calculus in special sessions with Ms. Follman and hanging with Mr. Press in the computer room with my good friend Steve Benerofe and the other Mathletes and frisbee players. I got to dabble in politics/protests serving as a class rep to the ineffective BBSO and then being part of the group that voted to disband it and replace it with the equally ineffective but hipper "Concerned Students". The faculty was flat out amazing and the relationships we were able to have with them were special, which we could sense but at least I couldn't fully appreciate until I moved on to other schools. I especially enjoyed AP History with Mr. Johnson on days when he'd put his chalk down and go off-topic, usually about current events or what we could expect in college. And of course there was choir and the musicals with Mr. Trautwein. A memory I'd like to share:
We were in England, touring one of those old, awesome cathedrals, and as I remember it the concert choir was doing one of those unscheduled performances, probably started by Hope, grabbing Mr. Trautwein's forearm -- "Mr. Trautwein, can we sing?" -- but it could've been any number of others who asked him if we could sing in this magnificent space. Mr. Trautwein gave one of those impish grins, his eyes getting big. "Good idea!" It was probably his plan all along anyway. So we quietly lined up in formation, everybody knowing their places, not a naysayer in the group. We were excited too, feeling a little like we were stealing although not sure what.
We knew it would be "Lo". We knew it before Mr. Trautwein raised his arms, serious now, and whispered that one word -- Lo. And then it was happening. We were into it, nailing Lo in this wonderful setting. The cathedral got quiet except for the music we were creating with the sound of our voices. Spectators gathered around, listening and appreciating the impromptu performance, Mr. Trautwein conducting this small group of teenagers who were singing a beautiful old song and hanging on Mr. Trautwein's every movement.
And then I was cut out. It happened in an instant. With his left arm continuing to conduct the group, never pausing, Mr. Trautwein locked eyes with me, subtlely pointed his right arm towards me and gave me the short, circular, you're-cut-off motion. So I stopped singing. I continued to mouth the words so as not to draw any attention and Mr. Trautwein continued to conduct the group. We got a round of applause when the song ended and went on with our day. Mr. Trautwein never said anything to me about what happened.
It would happen again during the actual choral competition in Harrogate. I knew I couldn't sing like the rest of the group and understood that he didn't want me to hold back the performance. It was an unspoken but understood compact between us. I knew I didn't really belong in the concert choir given my lack of talent. This was the main reason I didn't try out for concert choir. Before the auditions, I went to Mr. Trautwein's office and told him that after a lot of thought I didn't think I should try out. I rationalized -- junior year was going to be really busy, I had a lot of tough classes, I did a lot of sports and activities, I didn't see how I could commit the time to concert choir, yadda yadda yadda. Mr. Trautwein told me he understood and respected me for thinking it through and coming to him about it. My inability to sing well never came up. I didn't go to the audition, but nonetheless my name was there when the concert choir list was posted.
I don't remember speaking with Mr. Trautwein about it again. I was in the concert choir so I went to rehearsals and life went on. I suppose this is all a very long way of saying I'm forever thankful I was lucky enough to make a connection with Mr. Trautwein even though I didn't have any roles in his shows or really belong on his stage. He made a place for me and I was grateful for it -- I'd have done anything for him. For me the lessons he imparted went way beyond the music. Perhaps the most remarkable was how he was able to be a strong leader and human at the same time. Every year we'd be a week away from Opening Night and we'd all think there's no way we're going to pull this show off, but Mr. Trautwein would make it happen through the sheer force of his spirit. It was miraculous really, getting about 100 teenagers to perform Gilbert & Sullivan in a theater the size of a living room, while somehow managing to keep it fun. He was dictorial and playful at the same time. He walked a fine line as the leader of the choir and those shows, and looking back I deeply respect him for how he walked it.
Love to you all. Best, Jim
P.S. One other thing. I always loved it when we'd be in choir class and a former student would visit unexpectedly. We'd be on the risers and Mr. Trautwein would be facing us, with his back to the doors of the LGI, so he wouldn't see the arrival but he'd sense it from our reaction. He'd turn around and see a Michael Feigin or a Scott Bierko, etc. (you know who you are) and Mr. Trautwein would absolutely light up. The class lesson would cease and a lovefest would begin, complete with Mr. Trautwein divulging the full history of the former student's vocal and personal growth since 7th grade, war stories from past shows, and, if we were lucky, some singing by Michael or Scott, etc. I think we all secretly looked forward to the day when we'd come back and stroll through those LGI doors unannounced.
David F. Uhry Dc:
"Lovefest" What an appropriate word to describe the way he loved everyone and everything.
Suzanne Kiyak McCarthy:
Jim, that was so perfect. I think Trauty always considered any one of us as his own. As a result we became a family. You showed his unconditional love beautifully. It didn't matter what our level of talent was, as long as we were there together. Thank you. Sue K.
Leslie Perlman Reiff:
Jim, you belonged there just as much as anyone else. Through your story I can sense the respect George had for you, and he wanted you to be a part of it all. Besides, he often experimented with that silly tuning fork that never seemed to work well(we laughed a lot with that one) so quite obviously none of us were perfect!!
Amy Salko Robertson:
I love the unbridled honesty Trauty has inspired. Thank you so much for sharing Jimmy :)
