The Obituary That Reminded Dance Studios What Really Matters

Julia Wagner · 2026-07-02

When you run a dance studio, choreograph routines, or teach classes, it's easy to get caught up in the daily grind. Recitals, registrations, social media posts, competition prep—it never ends. Then something like an obituary crosses your path and stops you cold. That's what happened when I came across the passing of Jerrold F. Garling, shared in the York Daily Record. I didn't know him personally, but his story hit me in a way I didn't expect. It made me think about the people who shape our dance communities, often without ever stepping into the spotlight. ### The Quiet Forces Behind Every Dance Studio Think about the folks who keep your studio running. Maybe it's a parent who volunteers to sew costumes, a former student who now teaches the tiniest dancers, or a handyman who fixes the barres every time they wobble. These people don't ask for applause. They just show up. Jerrold Garling's obituary reminded me that every dance community has its unsung heroes. They might not be choreographers or studio owners, but they hold everything together. In the dance world, we celebrate the stars—the ones who win competitions or land professional contracts. But the real magic often happens behind the scenes. A studio owner in a small town might spend 20 years teaching kids to plié, never becoming famous. A choreographer might work with a local theater group for decades, touching hundreds of lives. When they're gone, the loss ripples through the community. ### What We Can Learn from a Life Well Lived Obituaries aren't just sad reminders. They're stories. They tell us what someone valued, who they loved, and how they spent their time. For dance professionals, they're a chance to reflect. Are we pouring ourselves into what matters? Are we building something that will outlast us? I once heard a studio owner say, "I don't teach dance. I teach people how to be brave." That's the kind of legacy that doesn't show up on a trophy shelf. And it's the kind that makes a real difference. If you're a dance teacher or choreographer, take a moment today to think about your own impact. You might not see it right away. A student who's struggling with anxiety finds peace in your class. A teenager learns discipline through rehearsals. A parent watches their child light up on stage and feels joy they haven't felt in years. That's your obituary in the making—not literally, but in the way people remember you. ### Practical Ways to Honor the Unsung Heroes in Your Dance Community So how do you carry this forward without getting stuck in sadness? Here are a few ideas: - **Say thank you out loud.** Next time a parent volunteers or a student helps clean up, tell them exactly why they matter. Specific praise sticks. - **Create a wall of gratitude.** Many studios have photo walls. Add a section for helpers, mentors, and behind-the-scenes folks. It shows everyone that every role counts. - **Dedicate a performance.** If you have a recital coming up, dedicate a piece to someone who's made a difference. It doesn't have to be someone who passed—it can be a living legend in your community. - **Check in on your people.** Life gets busy. A quick text to a retired teacher or a former student can mean the world. > "The best way to find yourself is to lose yourself in the service of others." — Mahatma Gandhi That quote hangs in my mind whenever I think about the quiet heroes of dance. They lose themselves in the music, in the movement, in the students. And in doing so, they find something bigger than themselves. ### Moving Forward with Purpose Jerrold F. Garling's obituary was a reminder that life is short. For those of us in the dance world, it's also a call to action. We have the privilege of shaping lives through movement. Let's not waste it. Whether you run a studio in a big city or teach in a small town, your work matters. The people you touch will remember how you made them feel long after the music stops. So tonight, when you lock up your studio or finish choreographing that new routine, take a breath. Think about your own legacy. And maybe, just maybe, send a note to someone who's been a quiet force in your dance journey. They'll never forget it.