It was 1972 when I first met the man they called Hartmeyer. He was scary, definitely gruff, with a full graying beard. Not the friendly type at all, I thought. But I needed a job, and Ken Dye introduced me to the John Hartmeyer of the Wind and Percussion Department at USC.

Those were formative years for what is now known as the Sprit of Troy, the Trojan Marching Band at USC. Not only was John sort of an equipment manager, making sure the band and instruments got where they needed to go, but he also arranged charts. In my opinion, he was always first and foremost, an amazing musician, even though he helped set up stands, and check out instruments, and drove the equipment truck.

John worked for wind and percussion and the music department, and there was a lot more to that job than anybody would ever know. And he usually had a way of befriending the many student helpers that were assigned through work study to assist him. Many of them remained in touch with John throughout his life.

But faculty members also respected his musical knowledge. He would debate the merits of a dimished chord, or the nuances of a brass choir passage with anybody. And he often knew how to make a piece of music sound even better.

John and I slowly became friends over time. Never more so than the summer of 1975, when we both shared the task of calling all faculty members to tell them that the beloved Bob Marstellar had died of a heart attack. And a couple days later, John and I called all these same people again, to tell them that Dorothy Bine, wind and percussion secretary, had died in a car accident. It was a tough time for the music department, and for me, but John was my rock and helped me through it.

Despite our age difference, John and I were friends. Though I could not appreciate the finer points of music as he did with many of his musical colleagues, we shared a love of music, and more importantly, John taught me the joys of the extended lunch hour. After a long week, the search for the perfect margarita became a noble pursuit. We never found it, but I think we came close a number of times.

In the first few years that I knew John, he lived in the smallest one-room apartment I have ever seen, right on the water in Seal Beach. Somehow, John's apartment morphed into the party magnet, and on summer weekends, he put out the call to I don't know, 50 to 100 of his closest friends. And they showed up, piled on to the beach for volleyball, and then back to John's place for food. Everybody brought something--hot dogs, chips, hot german potato salad, brownies (don't ask)and we regularly blew out a blender or two, in search of the perfect margarita once again. John brought people together and they were all crammed into this dinky, wonderful, sand-filled, crazy apartment. It was quite a time.

As most of you know, John was quite the debater, and definitely loved his politics and conspiracy theories. I don't know if he was actually on the Nixon enemies list, or made it in to J. Edgar Hoover's files, but he would have been proud to have been listed on both. He was definitely opinionated, and he was never wrong--just ask him!

John eventually married Beverly (thank god for her support), settled down (a bit), and then this terrible stroke robbed him of his mobility. But never his mind. He mastered email, and thank god for all of you who kept up with him, and sent him those horrible, horrible jokes he passed on. He looked forward to your phone calls, and cards, and to those of you who managed to visit, he loved you all. It was hard to see him, and those who still loved him but could not visit, he understood--and he loved you too.

I loved John, and will miss him, but I believe he's in a better place. The heavenly choir will now be singing new Hartmeyer arrangements, and in his spare moments, I see John as still looking for that perfect margarita.