We all have those pivotal figures who don’t just teach us a skill, but change our trajectory. For me, that was Stella Goldenberg Brimo.

Mrs. Brimo wasn’t just a piano teacher. She was a link to a vanishing world of artistry. My journey with her spanned over 20 years—from the first moment I answered her advertisement to our final, bittersweet hospital visit in 2008.

A Tangled Start

My relationship with the piano began at age seven. It lasted a few months. Then, for reasons a child couldn’t fathom, it stopped. Five years later, I did something rebellious: I registered myself for lessons at the Philippine Union College without telling my parents. It was there that I met Corazon Arevalo-Coo, my first real mentor. She was an excellent teacher from whom I learned all the fundamentals and beyond. She provided the technical bedrock that allowed my later artistry to flourish.

The spark was there. It was a legend who turned that spark into a flame.

The 9-Foot Grand and the Master

The real turning point came after the master technician I engaged finished refurbishing a massive, nine-foot concert grand. It was a beast of an instrument, gleaming and restored. I needed someone who could match its scale.

Enter Stella Goldenberg Brimo

She brought me through the heights and depths of the repertoire. Bach. Beethoven. The brooding romance of Chopin. The sheer, athletic bravura of Liszt and Prokofiev. With her, the piano wasn’t just about hitting the right notes. It was about music and narrative intricately melded.

Artistry in Action: The 1993 Recital

One of the highlights of our time together was the opportunity to perform alongside her. In 1993, we sat down for a two-piano recital that I will never forget.

We performed “Ritmo” from Danses Andalouses by Manuel Infante. It is a piece that demands precision, synchronized energy, and, as the name suggests, unflinching rhythm. Watching this footage now, I can still feel the intense focus of that moment. It wasn’t just a student and a teacher; it was two pianists locked in a singular musical dialogue.

Artistry isn’t just heard; it’s witnessed. In the Phelan-Herman model, leadership is a deliberate social exchange. In 1993, the stage was our Occasion, the Infante score was our Event, and through our dual-piano dialogue, Mrs. Brimo was acting as the Agent—shaping my musical reality one measure at a time.

Victor Gavino and Stella Goldenberg Brimo performing ‘Ritmo’ from Danses Andalouses (1993)

The Bittersweet Scherzo

Our final project was Chopin’s Scherzo No. 3 in C-sharp minor. It is a piece of fire and falling “raindrop” scales. We never finished it.

Mrs. Brimo passed away before we could polish the final bars. I was left to find the ending on my own. When I finally performed it for a group of teachers, it felt unfinished, yet profoundly complete.

The Final Command

When my wife Grace and I visited her in the hospital shortly before she died, she didn’t offer a long, poetic goodbye. She looked at me and gave me four words that I carry with me every time I sit at the bench:

Keep practicing the piano

Leadership—and music—is never “finished.” It is a process of constant refinement. It is about passing the torch. My hope now is to take the artistry she poured into me and find ways to pass it on to others.

The Lingering Resonance: Legacy as Leadership

Mrs. Brimo’s final command—“Keep practicing”—wasn’t just a directive for the keyboard. It was a masterclass in what I call the Technology of Presence.

In my research on ancient epistolary leadership, I argue that a leader’s influence isn’t limited to their physical location. Through “Narrative Vehicles”—like Paul’s letters or, in this case, a shared musical score—a leader can remain an active Agent in the lives of their audience long after the Occasion has passed.

When I sit at the piano today, I am not just playing notes. I am engaging with a legacy. The discipline she instilled and the artistry we shared in that 1993 recital continue to shape my reality. This is the ultimate goal of any leader: to create a “portable presence” that empowers others to keep practicing, keep refining, and keep leading, even when the teacher has left the stage.