**I
have struggled to find the right words to truly express just how
devastating this loss is to our dance family at the Duluth School of
Ballet, so apologies for the extreme stream-of-conciousness rambling.
I have been very fortunate in my life that I have not had to deal extensively with the pain and loss that is associated with the death of a loved one. I only know what I have seen close friends experience. That all changed earlier this month when I came home from work, and my mom said that she had something to share with me. Never in my wildest imagination did I expect to hear the words that came out of her mouth: “Mr. Peter passed away.”
I was in disbelief. Peter was the character in your life that you thought would outlive everyone and be there for years and years so that he would be there to teach our kids. He teased me when he did the photography for my wedding that I would need to get started on the next generation of DSB dancers right away so that studio could stay in business.
Peter was my very first ballet teacher, and to be frank, he scared the bejesus out of me. He was very no nonsense and didn’t take any crap that tends to come out of adolescent girls. I understand now that what was once seen as plain ol’ mean was really a lesson in self-discipline, not only in the studio but in all aspects of our lives.
When my mom started working at the studio, and before I could drive myself home, I would be there after everyone had left and was fortunate enough to have those few moments to just hang out with him. He challenged me one year to a chopstick contest, as he was going to a Chinese New Year banquet with my family, to see who could move the smallest item from their plate to the other person’s plate. Unfortunately, we didn’t get the chance to play, but I’m pretty sure that he would have beaten me as my skills are adequate at best. But it’s the little memories like those that are unique and special to each of his students that demonstrate why everyone loved him so.
Over the years, I always heard parents ask him why he never formed a company through the school, and his answer was always the same. He understood that not every little girl or little boy that walked through those doors wanted to be a ballerina or professional dancer, and that 99% of those students probably would never get anywhere near the professional level, but he guaranteed that 100% of those students would learn to love the art of dance. I always appreciated that he just wanted us to love dancing wherever it took us in life.
Pliés, pirouettes, and grande battements weren’t the only things that I learned in that studio. The life lessons that I didn’t understand how important they were as a teenager, I will always have with me as an adult. Trying to control a room full of girls, I think he groaned out, “don’t be an aural nuisance,” more than he cared to. He would always say it with a sly grin because he thought he was being so clever with saying “aural” and instead of “oral”. He would always quiz us on the difference just to drive his point home. I can hear his voice in my head sitting in my meetings when someone just can’t seem to be quiet.
He was fiercely adamant that his students not be “sheep”- if you’re going to make a mistake, make your own mistake and not someone else’s. Lord, I learned that one quickly. One time, when I wasn’t sure of a combination, I started to move one way, and noticed that someone else was doing something differently, so I adjusted and started following them, and boy did he call me out. He made me finish my initial movement and then promptly announced that had I not been acting like a sheep, I would have been correct. Message received, Mr. Peter. Loud and clear.
Always finish. He was forever on us to never slop out of a turn, combination, whatever. You always finish no matter how behind you are or how badly you think you did it. Always finish.
Peter’s dedication to his students went far beyond weekly classes. When I asked him to help me for a summer program that I was interested in, he not only picked out a dance for me to do, he arranged it so that it would suit my strengths. And then he worked with me for several weeks after class to set it and perfect it. He also coached me on the interview portion in which he gave me the best life lesson I could have ever gotten from him, “Don’t tell them what you think they want to hear. Just be honest, and be yourself.”
I believe that what endeared Peter to me and all of his students was that he saw in each us, what we couldn’t see for ourselves. There was no such thing as “I can’t” in his studio. You had better duck for cover if those words were ever spoken in his presence. He taught us, he encouraged us, he laughed with us, he teased us, he worried for us, and just in general, he loved us like we were all his own children. He was always saying that he didn’t need any more children because he had all of us.
I know that for the rest of my life I will always cringe at the word “recital”. Peter Garick did not put on recitals, they were performances, and how dare anyone suggest otherwise. They were some of the best times of my life. There is a reason why all the seniors are sobbing uncontrollably at the end of the last show.
I credit this man for my love of the musicals Yankee Doodle Dandy and Singin’ In the Rain, which he introduced at the Summer Movie Nights along with all sorts of useless trivia facts about them that has earned many points on the occasional trivia night.
He is the sole reason for life-long love (read: obsession) of dance and anything involving tutus and pointe shoes.
He is the link for not just mine, but many decades old friendships.
And while he may not have a child to carry on his name, his legacy is the hundreds of students who lovingly called him Mr. Peter even years after they have since graduated and continued to love dance.
So, thank you, Mr. Peter, for allowing me the privilege to share in your dream and to be a part of your dance family. You are greatly missed, but not forgotten.
I have been very fortunate in my life that I have not had to deal extensively with the pain and loss that is associated with the death of a loved one. I only know what I have seen close friends experience. That all changed earlier this month when I came home from work, and my mom said that she had something to share with me. Never in my wildest imagination did I expect to hear the words that came out of her mouth: “Mr. Peter passed away.”
I was in disbelief. Peter was the character in your life that you thought would outlive everyone and be there for years and years so that he would be there to teach our kids. He teased me when he did the photography for my wedding that I would need to get started on the next generation of DSB dancers right away so that studio could stay in business.
Peter was my very first ballet teacher, and to be frank, he scared the bejesus out of me. He was very no nonsense and didn’t take any crap that tends to come out of adolescent girls. I understand now that what was once seen as plain ol’ mean was really a lesson in self-discipline, not only in the studio but in all aspects of our lives.
When my mom started working at the studio, and before I could drive myself home, I would be there after everyone had left and was fortunate enough to have those few moments to just hang out with him. He challenged me one year to a chopstick contest, as he was going to a Chinese New Year banquet with my family, to see who could move the smallest item from their plate to the other person’s plate. Unfortunately, we didn’t get the chance to play, but I’m pretty sure that he would have beaten me as my skills are adequate at best. But it’s the little memories like those that are unique and special to each of his students that demonstrate why everyone loved him so.
Over the years, I always heard parents ask him why he never formed a company through the school, and his answer was always the same. He understood that not every little girl or little boy that walked through those doors wanted to be a ballerina or professional dancer, and that 99% of those students probably would never get anywhere near the professional level, but he guaranteed that 100% of those students would learn to love the art of dance. I always appreciated that he just wanted us to love dancing wherever it took us in life.
Pliés, pirouettes, and grande battements weren’t the only things that I learned in that studio. The life lessons that I didn’t understand how important they were as a teenager, I will always have with me as an adult. Trying to control a room full of girls, I think he groaned out, “don’t be an aural nuisance,” more than he cared to. He would always say it with a sly grin because he thought he was being so clever with saying “aural” and instead of “oral”. He would always quiz us on the difference just to drive his point home. I can hear his voice in my head sitting in my meetings when someone just can’t seem to be quiet.
He was fiercely adamant that his students not be “sheep”- if you’re going to make a mistake, make your own mistake and not someone else’s. Lord, I learned that one quickly. One time, when I wasn’t sure of a combination, I started to move one way, and noticed that someone else was doing something differently, so I adjusted and started following them, and boy did he call me out. He made me finish my initial movement and then promptly announced that had I not been acting like a sheep, I would have been correct. Message received, Mr. Peter. Loud and clear.
Always finish. He was forever on us to never slop out of a turn, combination, whatever. You always finish no matter how behind you are or how badly you think you did it. Always finish.
Peter’s dedication to his students went far beyond weekly classes. When I asked him to help me for a summer program that I was interested in, he not only picked out a dance for me to do, he arranged it so that it would suit my strengths. And then he worked with me for several weeks after class to set it and perfect it. He also coached me on the interview portion in which he gave me the best life lesson I could have ever gotten from him, “Don’t tell them what you think they want to hear. Just be honest, and be yourself.”
I believe that what endeared Peter to me and all of his students was that he saw in each us, what we couldn’t see for ourselves. There was no such thing as “I can’t” in his studio. You had better duck for cover if those words were ever spoken in his presence. He taught us, he encouraged us, he laughed with us, he teased us, he worried for us, and just in general, he loved us like we were all his own children. He was always saying that he didn’t need any more children because he had all of us.
I know that for the rest of my life I will always cringe at the word “recital”. Peter Garick did not put on recitals, they were performances, and how dare anyone suggest otherwise. They were some of the best times of my life. There is a reason why all the seniors are sobbing uncontrollably at the end of the last show.
I credit this man for my love of the musicals Yankee Doodle Dandy and Singin’ In the Rain, which he introduced at the Summer Movie Nights along with all sorts of useless trivia facts about them that has earned many points on the occasional trivia night.
He is the sole reason for life-long love (read: obsession) of dance and anything involving tutus and pointe shoes.
He is the link for not just mine, but many decades old friendships.
And while he may not have a child to carry on his name, his legacy is the hundreds of students who lovingly called him Mr. Peter even years after they have since graduated and continued to love dance.
So, thank you, Mr. Peter, for allowing me the privilege to share in your dream and to be a part of your dance family. You are greatly missed, but not forgotten.
