I received this lovely note from Lynn Habian, concert pianist, on Christmas Eve and am posting it here with her permission.
My husband and I send our sincere deepest condolences to you and your family.
I spoke to your father many times, on the island and from the States.
I’m a pianist who played at La Residencia 3 times- 2012, 2014 and 2015. I was put in touch with your Dad thru Louise, PR at the hotel. I didn’t meet your Dad, although I invited him to my concert. I did correspond with him thru email. I sensed after the loss of his Stephanie, he wanted to avoid the musical scene.
I had a great respect for your father. Because my teachers in past were older people, I agreed with his views on how things should be handled professionally in music business. So many things have changed.
I did read his obituary and saw the video that was done with you and family and friends. Lovely.
Here’s the first of many letters I referenced in the New Year’s Eve 2018 post. I feel badly for my mom. She really, really had it rough her whole life. I believe if you click on the images you will be able to see a larger version of each.
And so, once again we prepare to celebrate another new year, each time hoping that the incoming will be better than the outgoing. 2018 was better than its predecessor. The loss of Patrick, though still impacting most of us in ways large and small, is less raw than the year before.
The amount of effort remaining is huge, but the treasure trove of Patrick’s writings, correspondence, files, and documents will be scanned and posted as time allows.
Kids were fascinated by the way Shorty got around East End. In those days, the only paved road in our part of town was Highway 50, unless you count the short road up the hill to the Gospel Tabernacle. The remainder of roads were mud tracks, sometimes covered with what they called red-dog, the rose-colored residue from the burned-out slate dumps down at Minden. On these, cutting back and forth across what was once the Rhodes place, we regularly stubbed our toes if we went barefoot on our bikes, and new cars were turned into rattle traps in a few months. In the winter the depressions were yellow slime pits, or frozen plates between the jagged edges of red dog.