Something I just found
Sep. 1st, 2008 02:45 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hobgoblinnMy friend will be here on Sept 18th. I really need to come up with a handle for him, as he's become so much a part of my life in such a short span of time. We 're not making rash and impulsive decisions-- given that we live in different time zones, we couldn't if we wanted to. But I can't imagine him not being a part of my life in some way. Not that it would be empty without him, because I've demonstrated I can do fine on my own. But more in the sense that I can see us really building something together, given world enough and time. I'm proud of myself for being in a space to know inside myself that I can hold up my end. And I am filled with affection, and pride and joy for him, to see how he's come to this place after all he's had to go through himself.
Anyway, I've finally started tackling the boxes of papers, pictures, bills, and kid drawings in my room, trying to clear away some of the past and to make a space for him in my world. A cat-free space, which will be quite the trick, as Sam thinks my bed is really His, and he just lets me sleep on it. And I have found interesting things, including the never finished novel I started in grad school, a lot of kid schoolwork from much happier times, and this.
I wasn't present for this service, but I can see my old professor and friend reading this. I think it's a beautiful tribute, and I want it to survive somewhere out here in the ethernet, where maybe if I lose this printed copy, someone could still run across it. I loved both these men dearly. They were in some ways fathers to me, more than my own ever was. I have not heard from Cecil in a long while now. But if by this time he's reunited with Bruce making mischief in the heavenly choir and orchestra, I hope they spare a moment to look down on me and know how much they meant, and mean, to me.
TRIBUTE BY CECIL ISAAC, FROM THE MEMORIAL SERVICE FOR BRUCE G. LUNKLEY, WYNNE CHAPEL, NOVEMBER 27, 1998
It's an honor to have been asked here by Bruce's family -- by Tim and Wendy, and by Jean -- St. Jean -- an honor to say a few words about my friend and good colleague, Bruce.
But it's a sad honor, and one I would rather have postponed for a year, or for ten, or forever.
Remembering Bruce is not going to be hard for any of us who knew him, not at all. He did stand out -- a kind of operatic figure let loose in our everyday world.
And Wynne Chapel seems the very place for remembering him. This is the College's official site for worship and academic ceremonies, of course. But this chapel was also Bruce's workspace, his second home. He made so much music right here that I think no one of us could possibly come up with an accurate count of all the student recitals with Bruce at the piano, all the truly inspiring choir concerts, all the "O, holy nights" at Christmas vespers, and all those many -- hundreds really -- of Community Series evenings with Bruce very much in charge.
I recall him best from all those times we worked together, when he was a soloist with the Symphony. He would tackle anything, ready to help the orchestra make its lone foray into the heavy seas of Mahler's music, but just as happy to lead the carol sing-alongs at the Christmas Pops. He was a baritone for all seasons.
Many years ago, when this stage was a good bit smaller than it is now, he had to teeter on a stack of soft drink cases, out beyond the edge of the stage, to sing Walt Whitman's words to Howard Hanson's grand symphonic music. Hanson asked for a big orchestra, and the stage was chock full of players, so we had to stack coke cases on the seat of the front pew in order to bring Bruce up to stage level. The cases themselves weren't quite level, and they weren't completely steady. But he took it all in stride, stepped out onto that rickety tower -- and sang beautifully. I told him it gave his performance a certain nervous energy -- and he gave me a look worth a Whitman poem.
As you surely know, Bruce Lunkley was an exceptionally gifted teacher of voice, and he did some of his best work with kids who didn't really know yet they had a voice. There were times when he would come out of his studio (the mythic Craig 101) so excited he could hardly stand it, along with a wide-eyed student in a state of near-bliss. "We had such a great lesson today; there are really exciting possibilities here."
"Exciting Possibilities," that was key for Bruce. So many of his students came away discovering they could do more than they dreamed. And that was true for those of us who worked with him behind the scenes for Sherman Musical Arts and for Community Series. I certainly know that Bruce suggested and cajoled, supported and prodded, and stretched me to discover possibilities in my own work and life -- more than I dreamed.
"Creativity" is one of those words that have gotten a little frayed around the edges from overuse. Someone called "creativity" a Cheshire Cat word -- a very nice smile, but a little elusive in the substance division. But I saw Bruce as a clearly, unequivocally -- almost definitively -- creative person. It was more than a knack; it was a deep seated gift for seeing those "exciting possibilities" where the rest of us just saw problems. He created possibility, and we just had to hurry along, trying to keep up. That was Bruce's great talent, and that was his great gift to us.
I know there are a number of former choir members here in the chapel this morning, and I think Bruce would be especially pleased by that. He took pride in those voice students who went on to make careers as singers, of course. But I also know -- from many talks with him many times -- what real satisfaction he felt that so many of you chose to continue singing, in church choirs or community choruses, in your home cities, long after leaving Austin College. Your love of music, and your active, dedicated involvement with music is at the core of what he tried to do. You are Bruce's legacy.
Some years ago there was a happier time here in Wynne Chapel, when Bruce celebrated his 25th year at Austin College and his silver anniversary season with his beloved A Cappella Choir. A good many of you may remember that ecstatic concert evening. The place was packed. And I said, only half in jest, that if there ever came to be a great Presbyterian Tabernacle Choir, Bruce Lunkley would surely be its director, that he would still be looking for just a few more good tenors, and that he'd be hard at work planning for the first world-wide tour.
Now Bruce finally has his perfect choir, with God's own plenty of tenors, and there surely must be a celestial tour in the making that St. Cecilia herself could not have imagined.
Bruce Lunkley was an exceptional man, and my best friend. I am so grateful for him and to him. I will never forget him.
Anyway, I've finally started tackling the boxes of papers, pictures, bills, and kid drawings in my room, trying to clear away some of the past and to make a space for him in my world. A cat-free space, which will be quite the trick, as Sam thinks my bed is really His, and he just lets me sleep on it. And I have found interesting things, including the never finished novel I started in grad school, a lot of kid schoolwork from much happier times, and this.
I wasn't present for this service, but I can see my old professor and friend reading this. I think it's a beautiful tribute, and I want it to survive somewhere out here in the ethernet, where maybe if I lose this printed copy, someone could still run across it. I loved both these men dearly. They were in some ways fathers to me, more than my own ever was. I have not heard from Cecil in a long while now. But if by this time he's reunited with Bruce making mischief in the heavenly choir and orchestra, I hope they spare a moment to look down on me and know how much they meant, and mean, to me.
TRIBUTE BY CECIL ISAAC, FROM THE MEMORIAL SERVICE FOR BRUCE G. LUNKLEY, WYNNE CHAPEL, NOVEMBER 27, 1998
It's an honor to have been asked here by Bruce's family -- by Tim and Wendy, and by Jean -- St. Jean -- an honor to say a few words about my friend and good colleague, Bruce.
But it's a sad honor, and one I would rather have postponed for a year, or for ten, or forever.
Remembering Bruce is not going to be hard for any of us who knew him, not at all. He did stand out -- a kind of operatic figure let loose in our everyday world.
And Wynne Chapel seems the very place for remembering him. This is the College's official site for worship and academic ceremonies, of course. But this chapel was also Bruce's workspace, his second home. He made so much music right here that I think no one of us could possibly come up with an accurate count of all the student recitals with Bruce at the piano, all the truly inspiring choir concerts, all the "O, holy nights" at Christmas vespers, and all those many -- hundreds really -- of Community Series evenings with Bruce very much in charge.
I recall him best from all those times we worked together, when he was a soloist with the Symphony. He would tackle anything, ready to help the orchestra make its lone foray into the heavy seas of Mahler's music, but just as happy to lead the carol sing-alongs at the Christmas Pops. He was a baritone for all seasons.
Many years ago, when this stage was a good bit smaller than it is now, he had to teeter on a stack of soft drink cases, out beyond the edge of the stage, to sing Walt Whitman's words to Howard Hanson's grand symphonic music. Hanson asked for a big orchestra, and the stage was chock full of players, so we had to stack coke cases on the seat of the front pew in order to bring Bruce up to stage level. The cases themselves weren't quite level, and they weren't completely steady. But he took it all in stride, stepped out onto that rickety tower -- and sang beautifully. I told him it gave his performance a certain nervous energy -- and he gave me a look worth a Whitman poem.
As you surely know, Bruce Lunkley was an exceptionally gifted teacher of voice, and he did some of his best work with kids who didn't really know yet they had a voice. There were times when he would come out of his studio (the mythic Craig 101) so excited he could hardly stand it, along with a wide-eyed student in a state of near-bliss. "We had such a great lesson today; there are really exciting possibilities here."
"Exciting Possibilities," that was key for Bruce. So many of his students came away discovering they could do more than they dreamed. And that was true for those of us who worked with him behind the scenes for Sherman Musical Arts and for Community Series. I certainly know that Bruce suggested and cajoled, supported and prodded, and stretched me to discover possibilities in my own work and life -- more than I dreamed.
"Creativity" is one of those words that have gotten a little frayed around the edges from overuse. Someone called "creativity" a Cheshire Cat word -- a very nice smile, but a little elusive in the substance division. But I saw Bruce as a clearly, unequivocally -- almost definitively -- creative person. It was more than a knack; it was a deep seated gift for seeing those "exciting possibilities" where the rest of us just saw problems. He created possibility, and we just had to hurry along, trying to keep up. That was Bruce's great talent, and that was his great gift to us.
I know there are a number of former choir members here in the chapel this morning, and I think Bruce would be especially pleased by that. He took pride in those voice students who went on to make careers as singers, of course. But I also know -- from many talks with him many times -- what real satisfaction he felt that so many of you chose to continue singing, in church choirs or community choruses, in your home cities, long after leaving Austin College. Your love of music, and your active, dedicated involvement with music is at the core of what he tried to do. You are Bruce's legacy.
Some years ago there was a happier time here in Wynne Chapel, when Bruce celebrated his 25th year at Austin College and his silver anniversary season with his beloved A Cappella Choir. A good many of you may remember that ecstatic concert evening. The place was packed. And I said, only half in jest, that if there ever came to be a great Presbyterian Tabernacle Choir, Bruce Lunkley would surely be its director, that he would still be looking for just a few more good tenors, and that he'd be hard at work planning for the first world-wide tour.
Now Bruce finally has his perfect choir, with God's own plenty of tenors, and there surely must be a celestial tour in the making that St. Cecilia herself could not have imagined.
Bruce Lunkley was an exceptional man, and my best friend. I am so grateful for him and to him. I will never forget him.
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(no subject)
Date: 2008-09-01 07:33 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-09-01 11:10 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-09-01 09:28 pm (UTC)I assume Wee-Hob is back in school now?
And your poor cat! My dog Pippin is the same way. It's his bed and he allows me to share it with him. How can a twenty pound mind-dog hog an entire queen sized bed?
Hope you are enjoying your Labor Day, and isn't it time for an update to your SS/HG story?
;-)
(no subject)
Date: 2008-09-01 09:29 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-09-01 11:09 pm (UTC)As soon as I get my house more in order, I will submit my stuff to betas-- I have two WIPs that need updates. Hang in tehre and take care, and thanks for the kind wishes.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-09-02 12:40 am (UTC)And thank you for your kind comments in my last post. They meant a lot to me. :hugs:
(no subject)
Date: 2008-09-02 01:12 am (UTC)Thanks for your hugs, my dear.