Jonny somehow managed to be both a brilliant friend and excellent teacher to those that knew him. Many teachers manage to be mentors, but Jonny crossed that line into genuine friendship for many of us. His smile and sincere passion for his students somehow allowed him to form bonds in an incredibly unique way. The other tributes here paint an excellent picture of Jonny, so I wanted to add some anecdotes that will hopefully resonate with anyone who had lessons with him or knew him and bring back some memories of good times. Each paragraph a different memory I enjoyed.
I would often come to the end of a serious piece of classical music only to have his accompaniment morph into smooth jazz or The Adams Family accompanied by some sarcastic clicking and we would both crack up.
Every time the door would open to the next student Jonny would say ‘Do come in, Do set up’ in this certain way. This mannerism spread to me at which point after a while of knowing him whenever he would open the door to me I would say ‘Do come in, Do set up’. Jonny would reply with ‘Do come in, Do set up’, we would loop back and forth until one of us cracked or I was ready to play at which point the lesson would start as if nothing strange had happened. At the end of the lesson the door would open with the next student there and, once we got to know each other, Jonny would just turn to me and I’d look at the new student and say in his voice ‘Do come in, Do set up’ accompanied by a nod from Jonny, and depending on the time of academic year, the then confused new student would just accept this was how things worked and come in. Jonny would turn back to me and we would finish up what we were doing – if we made it through the previous exchange without one of us bursting into laughter.
When we were both bored or not feeling like doing much I’d open up my phone and find lists of jokes or funny stories online and would sit and read them to him while we both laughed hysterically.
It’s often said many people wear their hearts on their sleeves. I’d say Jonny wore his heart on his keyboard. As soon as his fingers touched the keys, something would happen, he would just flow over the piano, navigating passages he hadn’t played for a decade as if he had just practiced them that morning. So ingrained were these that sometimes he couldn’t even make his fingers work slower and so he’d have to play a phrase five or ten times at full speed for me, letting his fingers go as we would slowly keep track of where each one was moving so that I could note down his fingerings. I practiced many for hours on end, but few ever reached the level of deftness that Jonny achieved. It was clear he could make the instrument do anything he wanted.
Every so often as he played a note his hand would leap two octaves up to the right, to hit the corresponding note two octaves higher, not because it was in the music but just because he wanted to see if he could find that note without looking. He always could.
These stories are the magic that Jonny brought to those that knew him, a smile and a laugh at the most unexpected of moments. I end with this short message:
Dear Jonny,
I sat down to play the piano today for the first time in a while, made some mistakes that would have made you flinch and suck your teeth when I hit those notes. I found where in the piece you’d just written ‘face’ for no reason in between the lines and had a good laugh to myself. I’m sorry you aren’t around to see this but I’m glad I’m coming home to the opportunity to get to know you all over again as I relearn these pieces. Each page I turn I’m reminded of another funny thing you wrote or good time we had. Each page another lesson that I’ll remember all over again. Each page another piece of music we shared. I’m lucky to have known you and feel fortunate we shared all those times together, thank you for all the help you gave me, not just in music,
Love, Ben
