Obituaries
Sep. 27th, 2008 07:29 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
klsiegel320I've been wondering whether I'd ever be motivated sufficiently to write more here, and what it would take. Apparently it takes obituaries.
Two people, both very dear to me for vastly different reasons, passed away early this week, within twenty-four hours of each other.
The first I learned of was Duke Sir Morguhn Sheridan, a legendary member of the SCA in the region where I first belonged to the Society. He was a hearty, ruddy, handsome gentleman, always in evidence at events in central and southern NY. I remember him vaguely from the first event I went to in Delftwood; I don't remember specifics, but I absolutely remember his presence. I'd pretty much dropped out of the Society by the time he was King, first of the East and then of Aethelmarc; but when I heard, I smiled. I was sure he was a fine king; I didn't need to be there to see it.
He was never a close personal friend; I didn't know him intimately. But yet, I feel as if one of the fixed stars in the heavens has moved. A force of nature has disappeared. The constellations are changed forever.
And then yesterday I learned of the other great light that has gone out. N. Brock McElheran, known to all of us in Crane Chorus simply as "Brock," was conductor of Crane Chorus at the Crane School of Music for forty years. I was privileged to share the last two of those years, as an alto in the chorus (this was before somebody actually bothered to test my range and teach me to use the instrument I was born with). In some measure, I actually chose Potsdam because of Brock - I went there because Crane was going to be involved in the centennial celebrations for the Statue of Liberty, and I wanted to be a part of that.
Brock was a masterful musician, and a delightful teacher and friend. He constantly cautioned us to "worry early," and to allow for the unexpected. When we were getting ready for Liberty Weekend, he gave us a copy of an article he'd written describing his participation in the 1980 Winter Olympics with the Crane Orchestra and Chorus. Besides being hilarious, it was intended as a cautionary tale; these are the crazy things that happen when you deal with TV. Our expectations were fulfilled, in pre-recording our performance and dealing with the chaos of a live TV broadcast.
Duke Sir Morguhn was only 51, and died in an accident with many years ahead of him that were suddenly cut short. Brock was 90, so I suppose one cannot say he was too young - although he was such an Energizer Bunny that I fully expected him to outlive half his choristers. Two fewer stars in our earthly skies; two more places filled in that larger life. There really isn't much more I think I can say.
I read the requiem office for them today; its haunting chant tones and words helped some. It's the only thing in my power to do for them now - remember them with love and with honor, pray for the repose of their souls, and do whatever I can for those who mourn. It doesn't seem like enough; it never does. But it is all there is to be done.
Two people, both very dear to me for vastly different reasons, passed away early this week, within twenty-four hours of each other.
The first I learned of was Duke Sir Morguhn Sheridan, a legendary member of the SCA in the region where I first belonged to the Society. He was a hearty, ruddy, handsome gentleman, always in evidence at events in central and southern NY. I remember him vaguely from the first event I went to in Delftwood; I don't remember specifics, but I absolutely remember his presence. I'd pretty much dropped out of the Society by the time he was King, first of the East and then of Aethelmarc; but when I heard, I smiled. I was sure he was a fine king; I didn't need to be there to see it.
He was never a close personal friend; I didn't know him intimately. But yet, I feel as if one of the fixed stars in the heavens has moved. A force of nature has disappeared. The constellations are changed forever.
And then yesterday I learned of the other great light that has gone out. N. Brock McElheran, known to all of us in Crane Chorus simply as "Brock," was conductor of Crane Chorus at the Crane School of Music for forty years. I was privileged to share the last two of those years, as an alto in the chorus (this was before somebody actually bothered to test my range and teach me to use the instrument I was born with). In some measure, I actually chose Potsdam because of Brock - I went there because Crane was going to be involved in the centennial celebrations for the Statue of Liberty, and I wanted to be a part of that.
Brock was a masterful musician, and a delightful teacher and friend. He constantly cautioned us to "worry early," and to allow for the unexpected. When we were getting ready for Liberty Weekend, he gave us a copy of an article he'd written describing his participation in the 1980 Winter Olympics with the Crane Orchestra and Chorus. Besides being hilarious, it was intended as a cautionary tale; these are the crazy things that happen when you deal with TV. Our expectations were fulfilled, in pre-recording our performance and dealing with the chaos of a live TV broadcast.
Duke Sir Morguhn was only 51, and died in an accident with many years ahead of him that were suddenly cut short. Brock was 90, so I suppose one cannot say he was too young - although he was such an Energizer Bunny that I fully expected him to outlive half his choristers. Two fewer stars in our earthly skies; two more places filled in that larger life. There really isn't much more I think I can say.
I read the requiem office for them today; its haunting chant tones and words helped some. It's the only thing in my power to do for them now - remember them with love and with honor, pray for the repose of their souls, and do whatever I can for those who mourn. It doesn't seem like enough; it never does. But it is all there is to be done.
