The Fine Line

by

“There is a very fine line between genius and insanity.” These are words of truth, and they are also words of tragedy.

My friend Eric has died.  Many of you probably did not know him, but I am equally sure that some of you did.  Eric was one of the most brilliant people I have ever known – a phenomenal violist, philosopher, thinker, and a really sweet man.  He died homeless and lost, and I can safely say he died unfulfilled.  Eric – “Skydog” as he was known to some of us – was mentally ill, and that illness cost us someone who could have forever changed this world.

What is it about musicians?  All of us in the field have known more than our fair share of true geniuses whose lives were derailed, sidetracked, cut short by mental illness.  Our history is replete with them – Michael Rabin, Robert Schumann, Syd Barrett – the list goes on and on.  I am a firm believer that the fine line is regularly trampled by the greatest of us, sometimes to their great detriment.  Such it was with Eric.

I first met Eric at the University of Southern California in 1989.  We spent many evenings carousing, playing music, discussing life, and those were amongst the most intellectually stimulating times of my life.  Some have called me a genius, although the older I get the more I find that analysis suspect.  But I have had the distinct privilege of knowing a handful of people whose intellectual jockstraps I will never be worthy of carrying.  My friend and colleague Daniel Barenboim is one of them, and the two times I actually contributed something to his understanding of music, however very small it may have been to him, remain two of the highlights of my life.  My friend Eric was most definitely on that list.

When mental illness reared its ugly head I called his parents in Minneapolis and told them that I thought Eric needed help, and that he needed to leave USC and come home.  Little did I know that just a year later I would find myself living in Minneapolis and in a position to spend more time with him.  He seemed to be getting better, and within a couple of years he won the Principal Viola job at the Toledo Symphony.  I had high hopes that he could overcome his illness and make a life in music.  I threw him a gig party before he left.  One of the funniest moments of my life happened that day.  A mutual friend of ours brought him a going-away present – the viola part to Bruckner 9.  It was a gazillion pages of repeated pattern repeated pattern repeated pattern……. TREMOLO!!!!!…… tremolo softer!!!!…….  repeated pattern repeated pattern repeated pattern…….  Eric and I fell on the floor laughing.

Eric couldn’t hold the job, though, and eventually returned to Minneapolis.  He kicked around doing odd jobs, and played in the Minnesota Contemporary Ensemble and the Helios Ensemble, a chamber music group here.  But the power of his illness eventually proved too strong for him.  His brilliant mind became more clouded, he started to ramble more, and I’m sorry to say that he and I lost contact.

Once or twice over the past 10 years he called.  The messages he left were not very coherent.  I was torn – I had a family and a career, and I couldn’t……. didn’t make the time to try and help again.  I hoped that Eric would eventually find his way with the help of his family and mental health professionals.  My hope proved unfounded.  Eric was found on Saturday near the old Stone Arch bridge in Minneapolis.  He was 42.

Now that list of brilliant musicians who struggled with mental illness and lost is longer.  Those who knew him are left with wonderful memories, sad memories, and an obligation.  We must continue the fight in the memory of those who are on the front lines.  We must be willing to help them when we can.  We must be compassionate towards them.  And we must never forget that, no matter how hard our lives are, there are those friends, family, and colleagues who have a much harder fight to make a good life.  Mental illness is a horrible thing.  It deprives the one who has it of a “normal” chance at life, and it deprives the rest of us of the chance to see those people better the world around us.

I will conduct a concert next weekend.  I will remember my friend and his phenomenal gifts.  I will honor him the best way I know how – I will tell my audience about my friend Eric, and I will try to perform the music that is in front of me to the best of my abilities.  Let us all do that, for all our friends.

Eric Larss Peterson – Rest In Peace.  Goodnight, Skydog.

 

 

10 thoughts on “The Fine Line”

  2. I didn’t know him, but was spellbound by his obit in the Strib… this is a sad and beautiful tribute from you, Bill. I’ve been thinking a lot about regrets over the last few years– people I wish I’d kept in touch with, who suddenly were old, and then dead– but a YOUNG person who’s suddenly dead (probably not suddenly to him), and a brilliant person at that– sickening. I really appreciate this remembrance, and hope I’ll remember it if I’m in a position to help someone who’s sinking.

  3. Such a great memorial Bill. In the arts especially I’ve had so many friendships, seen so many personalities that were simply ‘lost’ to our world. Heart wrenching.

  8. Bill, I knew Eric from our time together in GTCYS. He was always a tremendously brilliant person and incredibly fun to be with. I’m sure that it was heart wrenching for you to contact his family during those college days, and, if my own experience is any indication, he may not have been all that happy with you for doing so. It is a tribute to you that you did that. I had looked for Eric for many years upon my return to Minnesota, and, because of his circumstances, was never able to find out anything about him. A few years ago, however, I started meeting other musicians who had met him/played with him, etc. I was terribly saddened when I heard the news last week. Thank you so much for writing such a beautiful posting about his life and his talent. I have many fond memories of him, and now I feel like I was able to journey further on in life with him.

  9. Thank you for the nice reflection of your thoughts on my nephew. The service was wonderful and we had a couple of nice solo’s with a viola and a sax. There are not many things that can get my emotions churning, but Eric’s true musical gift and the way he played from his heart was one of them. Regards, Rick Totino

  10. Bill, I am uncertain about whether or not you and I have ever met or worked together, however, I did know Eric well. I write this as I look upon a painting of Eric, myself, & Ilya Finkelstyn, that hangs over my living room mantle.

    Eric and I met upon his return to Mpls from USC. I did not know that he was unwell while in CA. I’d only heard from Eric his dismay about how scary life was in the neighborhood surrounding USC. And that he was glad to be home. I was studying with Almita & Roland Vamos. Eric began studying with them a short time later.

    I lived in Mpls from 86-92, and Eric and I played several times weekly together from 89-92 as duo partners, trio & piano quartet partners, and also together in IMP ORK @ the Walker.

    Fortuitously, I ran into Korey Konkol’s (Eric’s latest “coach” in MN) undergrad roommate while on the L coming from a neurology & neuro opthamology appt with my now 7 yr old son in Chicago this past Monday. The man sat down next to my son, exclaiming it was OK that Jacob’s pack was against him. He was a teacher, so no worries. Talk went on to include his relationship as roommate in college at Western with a “crazy violist.” I remarked that I’d been known to play one from time to time (not disclosing Too much to a stranger on a train). Upon returning home (70 miles or so west) to our log cabin in Norhtern IL country, I heard the voice mail from John Devine, who urged my return call asap. It was Wed morning when John shared with me the news of Eric’s death, and I feel so very sad for this great great loss. Sad that the man in the portrait over my mantle is no longer reachable in this world. Sad that his life is cut short by terrible illness. Sad that the friend I’d held so dear did not reach out to me in his time of need. Sad that I can never be side by side with him again in music. I learned So much from Eric. About Everything. I know he learned from me also. We were the best of friends, Bill. So perhaps I can understand the loss you feel. Perhaps not. What I do know is that I miss him, and will forever. What I also know is that this lost talent must be remembered and cherished always. I am so very sorry for the loss of Your friend Bill, and for the loss of this son, brother, nephew, and all around Wonderful human being that went unfulfilled.

    Love, Pamela Bublitz-Snider, violinist/violist

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