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.