Maury's "Eulogy"

Sometime in the late hours of the night I got the news that George had died, I wrote some random notes - thoughts on George, the Troupe and our times we together. On the day of George’s funeral I knew I might be expected to say a few words, but couldn’t think of anything, so I took along those notes and figured I could pull something together from them.

As Rod stood at the grave side and spoke so eloquently, I realized that much of what I had scribbled down was not really appropriate for this crowd. I did a quick mental edit and winged it from there. Later, a few people asked me to add my ‘eulogy’ to this blog. I have no actual copy to add, but here’s some of what I remember saying and a few things I didn’t say then, but seem more suited to sharing here:

I was stage manager of the Tomov Ensemble. I was also road manager, make-up supervisor and occasionally wore a few other hats – sometimes literally.

I was told that George occasionally called me his “left hand man.”

I called him Boss. He called me Boss. That pretty sums up our relationship. And we argued a lot. One of the things we usually argued about was the length of the show. George’s idea of a good show had running time of around 3 ½ hours, with 2 intermissions. I would argue with him until he agreed to cut it down. Next show, we’d start the argument again. Looking back, I realize it was one of our Troupe traditions.

The Troupe was George’s life and he poured his heart and soul into it. If you were fortunate enough to be accepted – really accepted - into the Troupe, then you became a part of George’s life. And George became a part of your life. And from then on, your life would never be quite the same.

We were a family. In many ways, maybe even closer. Like most families, we had a few strange aunts and uncles and there were several cousins we did not get along with. We put up with them all anyway. There were also people who were not really “related” but were considered part of our family anyway. We had family feuds, family parties and family traditions.

We also had family secrets that were never, ever discussed outside the family.

And the best of times were when we traveled. When the doors of our tour bus closed, then we were truly in our own world and wonderful stuff happened.

If you traveled with us to Macedonia, you got to dance at a tractor factory while still jetlagged after an all night transatlantic flight. You also got to fly from Beograd to Ochrid on a plane with standing room only.

You got to perform in George’s hometown of Strumica on a stage built for us in the town square. 15,000 people filled that square and filled the rooftops and hung out of windows and off lampposts to watch the show that the local boy had brought home.

You learned what “Nema Problema” really means, and you will remember a bus driver named Ivan.

You will still laugh at the mention of the Studenski Dorm, Fried Opanci, Cucumbers, the Electrician at Tetevo, the Cook at Resen and why I told you to “Count the women!”

And somewhere along the line you learned that being a Troupie was about a lot more than dancing.

My last bit of private time with George was only few days before he died. That afternoon his voice was strong and we were able to talk. We both knew we were saying goodbye. I tried to smile and so did he, but neither of us did a very good job of it. We did manage to reminisce over some of the great moments we shared.

At one point I said: “George, I still think your idea of starting a dance company was totally insane!” Without missing a beat, he looked back at me and said “You are right.”

I ended my little speech at his graveside the way I ended a hundred shows:

‘Bring down the curtain.’
‘Fade the stage to black.’
‘My thanks to the cast and crew for a great show.’
‘And that’s a wrap.’

Goodbye Boss.

A light has gone out

George Tomov was buried yesterday in a moving ceremony at his Macedonian Orthodox church in New Jersey. Among the graveside speakers was Rod McVeigh, a longtime Tomov Troupe member, old hand, calm head and good friend to George, who read an emotional eulogy:

*******

Today I speak on behalf of the Tomov Ensemble, a group that performed for almost twenty-five years. For George, the dream of his ensemble existed all of his life. From the time he danced brilliantly with Lado and Tanec in his native land, to the time he came to his new homeland of America, George wanted to bring his love and knowledge of ethnic dance and music to life for the public. And he certainly accomplished that, didn’t he? For our group of dancers, singers, and musicians, he was a muse, a mentor, a teacher, a friend, a father to us and grandfather to our children. In creating the Tomov Ensemble, George brought his culture from Macedonia to America and back again to Macedonia.

In 1979, 1981, 1985, and 1990, George bravely took a bunch of Americans, with costumes and instruments, all over what was then Yugoslavia. Much of our time was spent in and around Macedonia. There we danced near ancient bridges and on cement stages and in colorful Bitola parades. There was wonderful cevapcici and burek and Lake Ohrid trout and stunning views of the Vardar and the Crna Gora. George watched us with great joy as we performed in his hometown of Strumica. He was the epitome of the “proud papa.”

In America, too, George brought his abundant knowledge to life through us as we performed on many stages – some as grand as Carnegie Hall and Lincoln Center and some as simple as folk festivals and local schools. He even added an “American Suite” to the repertoire in honor of his new home. When George finally became a citizen of this country, we felt his happiness. We shared his ups and his downs, his triumphs and his difficulties. And although all of us were not participating all the way from the beginning until the ensemble stopped performing in the mid-1990s, once a Tomovcici, always a Tomovcici.

We thought we were learning how to perform. But we learned so much more from this amazing man, like: How to stand up straight. How to not show your “googie” to the “pooblic” (always good advice). How to apply too much makeup - on purpose and properly. How to pronounce hard foreign words like “spontaniou.” But he also taught us how to love each other, how to take care of each other, and how to watch out for each other, whether on the stage or off.

But, what did George always tell us was most important? If your feet do the wrong thing, or your hair falls on the floor, or your costume comes unpinned in the middle of the dance? Don’t stop. Just keep smiling. Don’t stop. Just keep smiling. Today, George, we are going to stop, but just for a few moments, to think about all you have meant to us. But then, George, as you say, we will go on, we will dance, and we will smile, as we remember you and your priceless legacy.

- composed with love by Rebecca McVeigh

Mara learns to anchor the line

Mara T. is one of the kids who grew up in the troupe. Her mother, Kris K. sent this:

This was one of a number of essays Mara wrote for her application to Princeton. It's thanks to George that she and I have had our lives enriched (and complicated) by Balkan entanglements.

"The grainy, haunting sound of a Balkan kaval wavers in the dark, hushed theater. It is at first a simple pulse that slowly crescendos as bagpipes, zurlas, and drums flesh out the melody. The rhythmic pounding of the drums echos the bah-bum! of my own heart, hammering so badly against my ribs it threatens to jump out. I remember cradling myself at eight years old backstage at Lincoln Center, hoping my body parts wouldn’t come unglued and scatter at my feet. Then, as I’m swept onstage in a rush of adrenaline and light, I lose myself completely and hear only the sounds of the music that dictates my body to move in an age-old dance. Looking back, the sounds of Balkan instruments, often dissonant and harsh to the uninitiated ear, are as familiar and comfortable to me as the shape of my own hands. The pounding of opanci shoes on the floor, the high wail of a bagpipe, the beat of the dance—these are simply things that flow in my bloodstream.

"Ironically, it was my northern European mother who introduced me to traditional Balkan dance. (My Bulgarian father has two left feet and wouldn’t know a pravo from a paidushko.) In fact, the very night before I was born my mother danced with me in her womb, and ever since I was just a tiny monster I followed her around and imitated the way she moved. My wide eyes would fix on the dancers, and I was mesmerized by how they seemed to dance with such total energy and abandon. It was the closest thing to actually flying (which at six had been my grand wish). They moved in such an intense affirmation of life, and with incredible grace and ease. It was only years later that I understood how precise, intense, and exacting the dance actually was.

"A good performer understands timing, teamwork, and the ability to appear engaged even under the worst circumstances. I remember hearing George, our dance director shout, 'Smile, or I killit you!' As I got older and my mother stopped dancing, that piece of my life was sealed away and began to fade. But in my memory, the traditional harvest dance at Lincoln Center comes to its rousing finale. The music falls silent, leaving only my pounding heart to continue the beat."

All My Children

George Tomov loves Sophie, originally uploaded by noelsk23.

I love this photo Noel K. took of his daughter Sophie with George in 2002. For someone who never had children of his own George had -- has -- a huge and loving clan. To join the Troupe was a little like being sucked into a huge, boisterous extended family. Yet George recognized each member as an individual with unique qualities to offer. At 11 months Sophie may not have known quite what to make of George, but I'll bet he had some astute thoughts about this young lady's future. That's a happy "grandpa".

Tributes to George in the Media

This morning's New York Newsday and New Jersey Star-Ledger have nice obituaries for George. Kris K. also posted a notice on the New York Times online, which will be viewable for one year. Links to these pages have also been added to the Links section at the left.

George Tomov, 1933-2008

George Tomov, originally uploaded by Chanterelle1.

Photo by Maury Englander

Road Trip!

ohio, 1976, originally uploaded by Chanterelle1.

Touring was an important part of the Tomov Ensemble's mission and allure -- troupe membership was known to swell in the year leading up to a Yugoslavia trip. But domestic road trips were another way to experience the pleasure, and sometimes the pain, of performing for new audiences in different places. By bus (oh, that bus!), plane, boat -- as they say, getting there could be half the fun.

Maybe one reason that road trips are on my mind is knowing that George is embarking on the biggest journey of all, compared to which Pen Yang and Pristina are just around the corner.

What are your memories of traveling with the Troupe?