Marc Johnson 1947-2014
On Tuesday April 8th my cello professor, Marc Johnson, died of a heart attack in his home in Maine. His death was sudden and unexpected, and has devastated all who knew him. Marc was loved instantly by every person who met him and was such a warm, generous, kind person. He was a phenomenal teacher and cellist with a long career of performing and teaching around the world.
The first time I met Marc was when I first visited Boston University. He gave me a free two hour lesson on a Sunday afternoon that managed to transform my view of BU from a cold, large school into a warm inviting community. Marc gave his time freely and with no reservations. He was always so excited to hear what I had done with my week, and to hear me play. Marc had an unwavering belief in my ability to succeed as both a cellist and a teacher. He gave me confidence and support. He was so sure that I would thrive here at BU and was willing to be in my corner to make that happen. Marc cared deeply about his students and I feel so lucky to have been a part of his studio, even for just a year.
Marc never lost his childlike wonder about the world, or his faith in people. Some of my fondest memories are of the times we would sit in his office and talk about accents and idioms. Marc taught me to say his name with a Maine accent and I taught him how to say Burque. We would laugh about how he called water fountains bubblers and how I would exclaim “dios mio!” whenever I would consistently miss a note. Marc saw music in a way that always fresh and exciting. He would remark about the “sweetheart of a note” Haydn would write. It is those small conversations, and his friendship that I miss most.
This week is complicated further by the fact that today is the 10th anniversary of my Grandfathers passing.
My Grandfather was a pianist and a pediatrician. He had a love of music and children that has been passed down through my family. Some of the earliest memories I have are with my grandfather. I remember “gardening” with him. (Which probably meant I pulled up anything he planted and played in the dirt). I remember his Grover doll that was in his house in ABQ. I remember his love of tea, and his sense of humor. He always had a little twinkle in his eye. I remember all of the stories my father used to tell about the culinary adventures they would embark on together. And I remember my mother and grandmother’s stories of his crazy ideas and antics. I’d like to think that my grandfather and Marc would get along, and are both watching and guiding me in what I do.
On Tuesday, April 15th it will be one year since the Boston Marathon Bombings. The entire city of Boston has come together this week in remembrance and grieving. Its been beautiful to see a city so united, but hard to be part of such a collective experience. My Boston Marathon experience was from the outside looking in last year. It shook my sense of security in the world, but in a way that was different than a lot of the experiences of people here. I’m trying to figure out my place both in the grief and in the city this week.
Thanks to everyone who has offered their love and support during this hard week. I really appreciate it. I haven’t been ready to talk yet, but as soon as I am, know that I know that you will be there for me. I have really felt my support systems and am so grateful. Knowing how quickly life can change, I just wanted to take the time to make sure I tell everyone how much I love and appreciate them.
Adventures in Boston 