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A Sermon by
Fr. Mead
✛
Remembering Sir George Shearing
In the Name of God the Father, God the Son and God the Holy Ghost. Amen.
He was a true star who burned brightly for a whole long lifetime, literally one of music’s knights in shining armor, honored twice by Queen Elizabeth. In 1996, he was named an Officer of the British Empire. He was knighted in 2007 after his fall and confinement to a wheelchair; and surely one of the sweetest photographs ever taken is the one of Her Majesty dubbing him Sir George Shearing on each shoulder with her late father’s sword, two glorious octogenarians. His father had delivered coal to Buckingham Palace, and now there was his son being honored by the Queen. Wouldn’t he have been proud of his lad?
Adjectives abound from the tributes that have poured in from friends and colleagues: quiet and well-spoken, perfectionist, sublime musician, man of faith, tender and affectionate, kind and generous, gentlemanly, quick-witted and (properly) irreverent, unassuming, unforgettable, funny. He loved puns and corny jokes. He had his likes and dislikes. He disliked garlic, cheese and fish. He loved a good steak, good wine, and tea. But the tea had to be right; that is, loose tea in a pre-heated pot with the water poured on it while on the boil. Then wait five minutes for it to steep, then a brief stir and settle, and, ah, there you are.
“Have you been blind all your life?” George was asked on a radio interview, and replied, “Not yet.” He didn’t think of blindness as a handicap but rather as an occasional nuisance – he would have liked to have driven a car, played tennis, and sight-read music. He did play cricket, while in school, with a balloon-type ball with a bell in it. He also learned to cook at the Jewish Guild for the Blind; he learned how to use a chef’s knife, how to dice vegetables very precisely, which he used in his world-famous Irish stew.
Once, on a flight from Los Angeles to New York, back in the days when they had to stop and refuel in Chicago, George had his guide dog with him, a Golden Retriever named Lee. While the other passengers left the plane to stretch their legs, George stayed on and continued his conversation with the person sitting next to him. One of the crew came back and asked George if he would like him to take his dog for a walk. George thanked him and gave him the dog. A few minutes later, George’s seat partner looked out of the window and noticed that the other passengers were milling around on the tarmac, reluctant to get back on the plane – because they saw THE PILOT with a guide dog!
It wasn’t all transcontinental flights, though. There was one stretch, not untypical, of endless bus rides between 56 performances in 63 evenings.
George married Ellie in 1984, resulting in 27 remarkable years of marriage. It was a great match, not least because George also met his match. When they met, George had called her and asked to meet her, and she said, “I’ll be the one with the red carnation.” Were they happy? “Oh gosh, yes,” says Ellie, Lady Shearing.
“George was a challenge at times,” she adds. Living with George and his enormous public, Ellie was glad she was a Lutheran minister’s daughter, “because you’re taught to get along with everyone, including people you don’t care about or even like. You needed to be of strong body, mind, and wit. We were a real team.” It was proven when George was to perform in Japan with the Osaka Symphony Orchestra. The trouble was the concert promoters assumed that George would conduct the orchestra as well as being the soloist. Their conductor was in Europe and there was no assistant conductor. “How about you, Ellie?” said George. While Ellie was a professional singer who had majored in music at DePauw University, she had never conducted a symphony orchestra before. “I’ll try it,” she answered and with no notice, she rehearsed with the orchestra for two hours before the concert. When it was time for her baton to descend, the only empty seat in the house was the one she had hoped to occupy. “They played like angels,” she says, and then they presented her with that baton. “Won’t you do it again if I need you?” George asked her. “Yes. But next time it’s not for free.” So being married to Ellie tempered George. He loved her. He mellowed. He was grateful.
George loved to teach master classes for graduate students, helping to tweak their performance, improving them through what people testify was his “unbelievable ear.” Here his blindness, the temporary nuisance but not a handicap, combined to perfect his art. George treated his students and fellow musicians with great respect, as equals in the great vocation. He cared about them and asked after their welfare.
George was also sensitive and had a sense of perspective about himself as an artist. Before his fall which debilitated and confined him in 2004, he had already decided to retire. “I feel I have played enough,” he said. “I want to quit when people still want to hear me.”
George’s mother was Jewish, and his father was Church of England; and George was reared Anglican at the Linden Lodge for the Blind in London. But he really didn’t become a churchman until marrying Ellie, and then, through her, it took hold, in New York, first at the Lutheran Church of the Holy Trinity and then, almost twenty years ago here at Saint Thomas – drawn by the music, especially of the Choir of Men and Boys. He soon found it natural, easy, and desirable to be here, which he was just about every Sunday. He loved to find out the hymns in advance and bring his Braille hymnal with him to church to join in the singing. George arranged a group of early American hymn tunes which we have heard today. He inspired our musicians and clergy by his enthusiasm and example. And then, when he couldn’t be here, he listened to our services on his computer.
Taking tea and Holy Communion with George at home was an experience of grace for Saint Thomas clergy. And it revealed the steadfast love and care, the amazing patience, of the lady he married and loved. When I complimented Ellie about this, she said, “Isn’t that what it’s about?” Yes it is what it’s about. “George was a lucky guy,” I said to her. “And I was a lucky gal,” she replied with as sincere a smile as there can be.
So now, with love and gratitude we commend this extraordinary artist, this true knight of music, to the tender mercies of his Maker and Redeemer, to God the Muse Himself, knowing that surely the music of the heavenly spheres has been mysteriously enhanced and tuned to even more unbelievable clarity and perfection. May Sir George rest in peace and rise with the Lord in glory. Amen.
