“The victim’s cello was still inside the car.” That seemed right. He was one of the most brilliantly talented people I have known. When I read it I wondered unconsciously if it could be the same cello I had seen him play Hendrix tunes on in high school.
His death fanned memories to life. I remember how he played basketball, how determined he was, how his tall, skinny self seemed to flow in between the defenders to get the shot. I remember how he played one game with a metal pin stuck through his shattered middle finger to stabilize it. And I remember how he didn’t think it was a big deal.
I remember him playing Hendrix’s “Red House” on the piano, while I tried to keep up on guitar.
I remember how he looked perpetually disheveled, how he was always running late, always charmingly distracted, always smiling. Always the one to laugh first and loudest. Always headed somewhere.
And then he would focus. Seeing him play the cello was to see very nearly a different person, hunched over his instrument, eyes locked on the music, his long, thin fingers pulling music out of the strings and wood of the cello. And then, after the last note, a smile would signal the return of his old person. I hadn’t seen him in years.
The comment section of the online article was a compendium of reactions.
“There are folks in this world whom you think you know but have many demons. It is so sad.”
“…I do wonder about what his reason was for being in that complex at that time of night. It is not a place to be if you don’t live there.”
“I knew him since he was five years old…”
“…He went to our church and we all got to know him real well. He performed for us many times. I very seriously doubt he was into anything bad, as he was a very serious believer.”
“As long as this ineffective, idiotic ‘war on drugs’ continues, so will incidents like this.”
There are many ways to try to understand the thing, to give it meaning. From afar, its meaning might seem to be a social one, the meaning that the last comment above lays on it. But the closer to the thing you get, the more it becomes evident that the only important meanings involve loss. A family lost a son, a brother. A symphony lost a cellist. An audience lost his music. He lost his life.
The details offer a false promise of explanation. A 1998 Camry, 12:05 AM, two gunshots, a cello in the backseat. But the way he lost his life means little except perhaps that he, like all of us, struggled with his humanness and sometimes lost. None of us win that battle all the time. I am sure that he won sometimes, as well.
For myself, I will remember the cello in the back seat, and that he performed with the symphony a few hours before he died.
He was unique, and human, and he played the cello.
this is the first thing anyone has written about dave that is accurate. the truth of these words stand as a tribute to a wonderful soul, yet also prompt a great deal of gratitude from his loved ones and the few who really knew him. thank you for sharing your memories and thoughts. these words meant alot to me.
Thanks, Benji. He was great. We’re definitely praying for you all.
Benji,
We feel badly about what happened to Dave. I particularly was hard hit by this since I lived with your family for a few years when you all were kids. I have many great memories of you all.
I feel fortunate to have known Dave so well.
We are all praying for you. Please keep in touch.
Laurel
I played at a local ASO audition with David on the Thursday before his murder. I never met David, but I knew him. I wrote the following to the Augusta Chronicle on May 13th. I received a response from the editor and I will post that as well as my rebuttal if anyone is interested.
Dear Adam Folk and the publishers, advertisers and readers of the
Chronicle,
I am very disturbed by the “comments” appended to the news items
concerning the murder of the cellist David Reader. Homicide is the
single most important event for local law enforcement to investigate. If
citizens can execute other citizens “extra-judicially” then what we have
is a community in a state of failure. A failed state.
This is why responsible journalism is so vital. Coverage of David
Reader’s murder is not some op-ed piece for every Tom, Dick and Harriet
to use as an opening for griping, preaching, smearing or otherwise
opining on whatever subject, however tangential to the case, no matter
who or how severely it may offend, praise or pacify.
It appears that the “comments” are moderated as some are not published
because they violate the outlet’s comments policy. Based on the horrible
things that are being published, none of which even the commonest
decency would permit me to repeat, I think a reevaluation of these
policies is imperative.
I would like to respond personally to one comment: Music may be many
things including a hobby. “Cellist” is not a hobby. Neither is
“Violinist”, “Composer” etc. Yes, David Reader was a professional,
one
with a position and a member of the American Federation of Musicians.
But “Cellist” is much more than that. It is a “second life” lived by
all
musicians. A life not of their own led simultaneously solely to beautify
and illuminate communities and to educate children.
All of David’s lives are over and all of us who shared or relied on
those lives are diminished.
Alexander Kramer, Cellist
Charlotte, NC
Thank you for this. I was David’s old roommate, and we obviously knew the same tremendously gifted, tremendously good human being. I loved David and miss him every day. I’ve not seen it so well put as this…
“But the way he lost his life means little except perhaps that he, like all of us, struggled with his humanness and sometimes lost. None of us win that battle all the time. I am sure that he won sometimes, as well.”
Again, thank you.
David was one of a kind. That 6’ 4” frame held a great deal of talent, of care for others, of love, and of many other good things. Those of us who had the privilege of knowing him will not forget – he was unique.
I guess one of the things I enjoyed about him the most was the unexpected things in him, things that were uniquely ‘David’. Like the time he played at church, but first took OFF his glasses before playing!
Then there was his humble, meek spirit, something you’d not expect from someone so talented. He’d rarely look up during or after playing. He always seemed NOT to want the applause or the attention, but to just quietly vanish into the crowd after playing. Whenever someone would try to compliment him on his playing, he did his best to be courteous, but he really didn’t want to hear it.
He didn’t know how good he was and if he had, he would never have admitted it. From time to time I’d say, in full sincerity, “It won’t be long now before you’re playing for the Atlanta Symphony”. But he thought it was a joke and would laugh at the comment. “That’s a good one!” was his usual response.
When he auditioned for the Macon Symphony last year, after he’d played, he came back in the room and said, “Let’s blow this place! I’m not going to get it!” When the guy in charge came into the room, handed David a contract and said, “Congratulations and welcome to the Macon Symphony” David’s jaw about hit his knees. He looked at me, totally speechless, with his eyes as big as basketballs. He was totally taken by surprise.
Etched in my mind is a moment I’ll never forget, a moment many would have paid to experience. On a camping trip last year, one night David pulled out his cello and there, in the dim light of the campfire, surrounded by the pines with the stars spinning overhead, he began to play. First he played some hymns, all by memory of course, because he was just that good. He began with Overshadowed, my favorite (he was always thinking of others). He then moved on into some classical pieces, never missing a beat, never making a mistake.
When it was over, off in the distance we heard applause from the other campers. The next day they all came over to talk with him, but of course, being David, he didn’t want the attention or the accolades. He patiently and kindly endured their comments and praises, all the while itching for us to get going on a mountain bike ride through the forest.
The next night he played again, mainly because I pushed him into it, but this time one person came out of the darkness to stand at the edge of the fire and just listen, not saying a word, not moving, just listening. It’s not surprising that people didn’t talk when he played, he really could move you to tears or to joy – his playing was that amazing.
Today I was again listening to David playing one of Schubert’s Sonata’s for piano and cello – a treasured gift from him. Many are the times I would love to have captured him playing, but this is the only one I have; it’s greatly valued. (In typical David fashion, when he gave me the CD, he did so with that sheepish grin of his and an apology with hopes that I “might enjoy it”. What wonderful humility!)
While David was perfect in his playing, he was not a perfect human being. I dare anyone to stand up and claim that they are without fault. Which of us could ever say we are? David was VERY aware of his shortcomings and his failings. Those who did not know him, but have hurled accusations, must have some deep, dark issues of their own to be so low, so cowardly. One in particular made statements as if they knew him. They did not know David, for the person they were describing was not David. I knew David and was with him too often, in too many different situations, for extended periods of time not to know him inside and out. But it’s pointless to dwell on those who are so angry at life, so angry at God and His people, so twisted as to attack someone in this way.
There was only a single bullet hole in the car, in the windshield (I put my little finger through it), but it was enough to make a difference. That single bullet, like ripples on a pond, has affected the lives of so many. I wonder if the mind behind the hand that pulled the trigger gave any thought as to the lives that this senseless act would so greatly affect. Probably not.
Looking at the car, I could clearly see the violence of my friends passing, but David would not want his car to remain so. Two of his friends working side by side, together, quietly, late into the night, cleaned up his car for him. To touch something that was a part of David was a chance to say good-bye, to do something, one more time for him, to say that he was loved for who and what he was.
To me it was the place where David was translated, the place where his human eyes began to fail but where his spiritual eyes were opening wide to what we cannot see but know to be there. It was there that David saw what we can only vaguely imagine. It was there that David finally saw the worlds beyond, the worlds in which he is now living and waiting for us.
So this is good-bye for now David. I’m so looking forward to seeing your 6’ 4” frame again, to sit down and talk about all that will have happened between now and then. Maybe you can show me around since you will have been there long before I arrive. I bet you’ll be able to introduce me to Bach since I know he’s in Heaven too! Maybe THEN you can finally teach me how to play “that nutty instrument” as you called it, my hammered dulcimer. In the mean time I’ll continue to do what you would want me to and we can talk about it all then.
Until we meet again David,
Tom
thank you thank you thank you. that’s all i can muster. thank you for painting an accurate portrait – i’m so tired of hearing the negative, albeit ignorant opinions – on the beauty that was, is and forever will be the life of david. thank you.
Thank you to all those who have contributed before me.
I didn’t know David for very long, only a few months. But it didn’t take me very long to know that David was a special musician and a wonderful person.
I have no doubt that, had he continued to be with us, he would have reached elite status in his profession and we would have been lifelong friends.
It is with thoughts of David’s unfulfilled life that I work to make the most of my own life, as both a professional musician and a human being.
David, may we meet again in the future and collaborate as musicians and friends.
Bill
To David’s friends who have written thoughtfully here,
I am David’s 1st cello teacher. I taught him from the time he was around 13 until he graduated high school. (I was the professor at Wichita State). It is easy for me to say he was extraordinary, the most talented student I ever had, a born artist, and simply brilliant in every way. He also became my friend, which is a gift to me. We became colleagues and could talk endlessly about the cello and music. David’s love of music, cello and all knowledge was insatiable. I appreciate what you said, Bill. David could have accomplished so many great things. Indeed he already had. I love the campfire story too. I’m sure there are many more. When he was still young, and not quite ready for major repertoire, I walked into a lesson one day and he starts playing the Dvorak concerto for me– accurately and completely by ear. Then I knew I had a major talent on my hands. Sure enough, he learned it and ended up playing it with the Youth orchestra. He entered the Cincinnati Conservatory for his Bachelor’s, and then Georgia State for a masters, and then a principal job. Unstoppable. I’d hear him from time to time, always thrilled at his progress and deepening love and care for music. I can’t imagine anyone loving music more. And then there’s his wonderful personality. His genius also applied to his personal relationships. It was easy to love David. There was no end to his good humor, his philosophizing, and capacity for friendship and loyalty. Whatever we believe about why things happen, I can only take comfort in thinking perhaps David was such a great gift to us, his short time was full and rich, that we can be grateful for that taste we got. We have been deprived so many times of more years from extraordinary people. David joins the ranks of Jacqueline du Pre, Emmanuel Feuermann, Mozart, Schubert, and too many other artists who graced our lives, changed the world for the better, and left too soon.
I hope to meet more of David’s friends as time goes by. We will keep his memory alive. Thank you all.
With love and sadness,
David Schepps
(University of NM cello prof.)
To the entire Reader family and all that knew David well, I feel your pain. No one should have to experience something horrific like that. I am saddened, shocked, and heartbroken to hear the tragic news of David’s untimely death. I am also a former cello colleague of David, (also a former student of Schepps) and went to Wichita State University with some other the other Reader brothers and sisters. I envied the man so much, but learned to appreciate his talent and love and passion for music, art, and the cello. He will be greatly missed. R.I.P.
It is with sadness that I have come across this article about David Reader. I had the awesome opportunity to get to know David while living in Wichita, Kansas. His love for music was infectious and he was hard working. I will always cherish our days playing the greatest chamber music and having him as a late night practice mate. I wish I could have kept in touch with him better after my days in Kansas but am thankful that our lives crossed in a meaningful way.
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David was my cello teacher for a few years when I was about in 4th or 5th grade. He told me he had to hold the lessons for a few months because he was so busy. I never got a call back from him so I just figured he was too busy or something. I just found out what happened to him and I’m so shocked right now I can’t put it to words. He was such a great person and I still remeber his outgoing yet humble personality. I am so glad I got to experience his personality through him and the cello. I will definitely play the cello with him in my memories.
I was the reason David broke his arm in the 6th grade….
I had just moved Andover from qLos Angeles and obviously was an outsider. My parents had always had this idea that their sons from east L.A. could be something else other than dish washers or truck drivers. My father was a truck driver. My eldest brother had been in a lot of trouble ’92/’93 therefore we found ourselves in the middle of nowhere Kansas.
The only thing that maybe anyone can say about David reader is that in the 6th grade he tried his hand at being a bully. He wasn’t very good at it, but he didn’t know I had been bullied since kindergarten.
My protector, Stephen, who had been a sophomore I believe, decided to pick David off the ground and some how drop him down in a manner which broke his arm. It was all a blur and in an instand my parents removed me to be homeschooled.
During the years of ’96/97 I returned to what was then called northfeild school of the liberal arts. David was already above 6′ and horrendously skinny. During the first months back David and I seemed to recall our past and bury any issues. He was such a different person. He was wild eyed and veracious. He was a master at getting out of the most insane problems! Such a clown…I remember a when we would be listening Mr. Schmidt teach from the book and David would always manage to not bring his book. I’d be there with mine and share. Haha of I forgot to turn the page, he would say with a big smile, “psst! Turn the page…..” Or the time he plagiarized the encyclopedia for a Zeus paper he had due, starting, “Zeus. Pronounced Zeus…” He truly was a character. Spoke languages, played instruments and how many different sports. I taught the guy how to play ping pong and in one game he beat me. I never won again.
He was just a talent amongst talent. It is my belief that Lord took him to be amongst his people generously before the enemy had a chance to darken his spirit.
My only regret is that my heart darkened and I wondered aimlessly for years before I could ever regain Reader’s favor. For a moment in time, he was a friend.
Happy Birthday, David : )
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