Josh Strongin steps back from the TWIPS to reflect on Doc.

One Year On

I really wanted to write a TWIP for alumni shenangains. Partially because there are few things in life that give me greater joy than writing about college basketball, but mostly because I wanted to write something for Doc. It has been basically a year. And while I and all of you had time to heal and grow, it still cuts deep that Doc is gone. Never more so than when band things are happening or something in your life reminds you of him. The thing is, I’ve written several versions of this and they’ve all been lowkey garbage. I’ve been stressing what to write, something that perfectly encapsulates Doc and makes it clear how so very important he was to all of us. One draft was way too somber, another draft was more of a personal story for me and nothing for you, and the last was just incoherent babbling.

So I took several steps back and asked the very important question I should have asked when I started this. WWDW? What would Doc want? And when I thought about that all I could do was laugh at how much he would not have given one single solitary crap what I wrote. It was never about just the band. It was always about the music, the band, and the people in the band. That’s what he cared about, what he worked for day in and day out, his own personal feelings and whatever else be damned. Always with a smile and always with a laugh. He did the absolute most for all situations and at all times. And what always stood out to me, was that he did it in such a personal and unique way for everyone who wanted to a part of GW Band. We are each our own person, with our own quirks and personalities and problems, and each of us had a unique relationship with Doc that he rolled with and worked with. You wanted to bust his balls and give him shit? He could roll with that. Just wanted to be a part of the band and quietly go along for the ride? He could roll with that too. Wanted to discuss your life goals and fears? Doc was absolutely there for that. One of those garbage drafts I wrote was just me talking about what Doc meant to me. When I finished and read it I realized that wasn’t fair to send to any of you, because what Doc meant to me is completely different than what he meant to all of you. He was there for all of us in his own way. And what he meant to me was indescribable. A teacher, a mentor, a friend. Someone to learn from. Someone to laugh at. Someone to make music with. We are who we are and where we are now in at least some respect because of what Doc did for us. And that was possible because of everything he gave to this glorious thing we call GW Band. And I do mean everything. Right up until he couldn’t, Doc was working to make the band better, to make sure we all found joy in music, to make a family for anyone who wanted to be a part of it.

I want everyone to think of their most important Doc memory. Not the funniest, or the weirdest, or the saddest, or the one that makes the best party story. The most important memory you have of him, the thing that had the most impact on you in your time with Doc.

So it might not be that exciting or out of ordinary but for each of us, this is the memory I believe we should all try and hold on to the most because it would be the thing that Doc would most want us to remember him by. After all, the most important thing is the most important thing.

Rest in peace, Dr. Fritz. I know you’ll always be watching over us.