"Gunther was like a bottomless pit of empathy." (Damien Coghlan)
I guess I knew I'd never see Gunther again. I had often suggested
getting together in these last few years and he’d always say ‘yes we must catch
up soon’ but it never happened. In the end I stopped asking – I had the feeling
that he was still quite self-conscious of how he looked and sounded after his
last round of surgery. But happily I did bump into him on Semaphore Rd once a
couple of years ago and had a lovely chat with him and Gail. It was the last time we saw each other. But
he always wished me well for upcoming gigs, and never failed to pass on
birthday greetings. He also posted wonderful links to live music on social
media. Whatever the genre – classical, jazz, folk, rock, country – you could be
assured it was first class and worth listening to. His last music post to Facebook
was about a performance by the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band with Alison Krauss just two
days before he left us.
So though I was no longer seeing my old friend I always felt
he was there in my life somewhere. And now that he’s not there I’m quite taken
aback by this feeling of immense sadness as I realise he’s gone. I knew I loved
the man, but only now do I appreciate just how much I appreciated having him in
my world.
I met Gunther at Marymount College and over the following
five years learned to love his calm warmth. There was a stillness about him
that was very comforting. We played bridge together at recess and lunch time most
days over those 5 years – both of us preferred to retreat into the ritual of a
card game rather than talk. Gunther in fact rarely talked. We marvelled at how this oh
so peaceful man who rarely spoke could manage to teach a classroom full of rowdy
11 to 14 year-olds. But he did. And students loved him. He spoke gently and
quietly and they shut up, listened and proceeded to create works of wonderful
art. Students loved his art classes. He managed to get through to those kids in
a way that no one else on staff could – with a gentle dignity and grace that kids respected.
One evening on a school camp the students had sort of gone
to bed and it was time for some teachers’ adult time. Gunther and I both had
our guitars. We had never played together but I decided to sing a song about a
painter called Patrick. Some way though the song Gunther had learned the chorus
well enough to join in and I heard this deep resonant vocal come in under my melody
and it quite disarmed me. It was just beautiful.
Rich, warm and resonant, it just gave the song a solid base
that allowed it to fly. And it occurs to me now that maybe that’s what it was
about Gunther; why we all loved him. He provided a place of comfort and warmth without
judgement in which we could just be ourselves. He was always supportive and encouraging.
And yet often silent, and always quiet. As another teacher from those days at
Marymount recently wrote, Gunther saw us all as better than we really were. He allowed
us to believe that we were OK; that life was good and there was opportunity
ahead.
Deep, warm, resonant – these words keep coming to mind as I
contemplate the man he was – at least as I saw him. It’s also tempting to see
his quiet calm as something akin to wisdom but he’d hate that. But I do know
that I’ve never known anyone quite like Gunther Stopa – his deep warmth and
calm was highly unusual and it was beautiful to be around.
Goodbye my dear Gunther. You were my colleague, an erstwhile
singing partner, a painter, a place of refuge and above all a very dear friend.
It’s a cliché to say life won’t be the same without you, but there really isn’t
anyone else in my world that is anything like you. I was fortunate to share a lot of life with
you, and I will dwell for a long time on what it was about you that made me feel
so good to be in your company. But it starts with warmth ….
