John Preston Longstreth

Honoring Life in Our Steady March Towards Death
John Longstreth was born on August 16th, 1943, in Hollywood. He grew up and lived most of his life in Orange County California and died on April 2nd, 2022, in Round Rock, Texas. He is survived by his brother Tracy, son Victor, and six grandchildren: Jordan, Nick, Lundy, Lauren, Isaac, and Rachel along with one great grandson Eric-Russell.
My dad was the first-born to his parents Harry and Mary Longstreth. Next was Tracy his brother, then came his sweet little sister Mary-Kay. They lived in a beautiful home in a nice quiet neighborhood in sunny Santa Ana. They were an idyllic family portrait. But this beautiful scene drastically changed after his sister Mary-Kay died at the tender age of 3. My dad was only 9 years old. After this tragedy my dad's father (who fought in WWII and was deployed in Korea when Mary-Kay died) returned home a tyrant, taking out much of his furry and frustration on my dad. Without going into detail let's just say my dad was severely disadvantaged by his father's treatment and this pain was something my dad carried with him his entire life. Thankfully his mother was a strong and supportive soul.
My dad became a bit of a juvenile delinquent as a youngster. He would often tell the story of the day his delinquency ended when an earnest football coach came to visit him in juvenile hall. The coach told him that if he would put his hand on the bible and swear that he would never steal another car he would get him out of juvenile hall to play football. Now I could be wrong, but I believe this was the first ever alter call to come forward to play football for Jesus. My dad agreed and went on to become the captain of the football team at Santa Ana High School and kept his word never stealing another car.
My dad was also a surfer, and believe it or not, was in one of the original surf rock bands of that era. They were called Rhythm Rockers. He even got his younger brother Tracy in the band. They released an album entitled Soul Surfing in 1963. After the Rhythm Rockers disbanded, he toured briefly in Japan with the Chantay's and The Righteous Brothers. It was then that he discovered his true passion in life which was the classical guitar. So naturally he hopped on a cargo ship with a couple of high school friends and embarked on an adventure that took him across the ocean. He settled in Spain and Morocco for a time, where he studied and practiced, learning all he could about his new trade.
He was married to his high school sweetheart Lene, and they had two beautiful children Eric and Emily. Unfortunately, their marriage ended in a painful divorce. My dad was devastated, particularly because he was separated from his children.
This led him to pour more of himself into the guitar. He worked various jobs to try and make ends meet, when one day, lo and behold he met a beautiful lady named Yolanda and they soon had a son, Victor. Sadly, this marriage didn't last either. It seemed John was to become the very embodiment of the lonely, starving artist, suffering for his craft. With each disappointment he plunged himself deeper into his studies and his passion for the guitar grew stronger. His true prized possession and longest lasting love was his Ramirez guitar. The guitar was a true beauty, hand crafted in Spain bearing Andre Segovia's signature on the label. Segovia of course is one of the greatest guitar players who ever lived.
In 1983 when my dad turned 40, he quit drinking cold turkey and never had another drop. Although, he did develop a propensity for the California greens (but even this changed in his final years). In his forties he spent much of his time reading books, sheet music and teaching himself to play some of the most complex and beautiful pieces ever written. One of his favorite albums during this period was by John Williams entitled Echoes of Spain, which is a collection of music by Spanish composer Isaac Albeniz. It was originally written for piano but when transcribed for guitar it captured the true essence of the Spanish spirit and sound (which my dad loved).
So, as the popular music scene in the 80's shifted into New Wave and "Big-Hair-Bands" my dad's musical pursuits were as far removed from pop culture as one could get. I remember telling him this joke, "What's the difference between a classical guitar player and a large pizza? A large pizza can feed a family of four." He laughed and thought it was funny, but it didn't deter him one iota. He would practice for hours on end. I can remember listening to him rehearse Albeniz's Asturias and watching his fingers in amazement. He would warm up by doing scales and then launch into the piece. At the time he was living in Mexico and his playing would echo through the home as his foot stool creaked under the weight of his intensity and the metronome would click into the wee hours of the night. One of my dad's greatest hopes was to make it big and to earn enough money to put his broken family back together as best as he could.
He also had the gift of gab and fancied himself a lecturer too. If you were going to listen to him play you were also going to learn something about the piece, the composer, the style, etc. I remember him performing in Santa Ana at Chapman College on a night that was spotlighting a variety of different classical guitar players. Each guitarist sat down, played their 3 songs, and never uttered a word. Not my dad. When he took the stage, he began with a lengthy introduction and charmed the crowd. He did this before each piece and had the concert hall captivated by his performance and his entertaining insights. Yes, he was quite the conversationalist. He could cover a variety of topics, from classical music and art, to politics, science, and quantum physics. From sports and cars to Kierkegaard. At times he could also be extremely intense, I mean EXTREMELY intense. But just when you were thinking "man this guy is about to blow a gasket," he'd fake a fall or do something so silly you just had to laugh.
He loved books and had an eclectic collection. One of the books he loved was the Bible. Even though dad didn't grow up attending church, through most of his life he saw Jesus as an amazing man with some profound and puzzling words of wisdom. I am thankful to report that after many, many discussions on this topic he became much more orthodox in his Christian faith. In fact, in 2015 he began attending services at Kim Riddlebarger's church, Christ Reformed Church in Anaheim, CA. My dad was 72 years old at the time.
He also loved books on music and music theory. He was a big fan of the Schillinger System of Musical Composition. As a teenager he tried to teach me to play classical guitar, but I didn't have the patience. So, I came up with a brilliant compromise. Since my dad began by playing bass, I thought hey, he can teach me to play bass and we can play together, which we did for several years. We even recorded six instrumental original tracks. His brother Tracy played drums on the session. Now, the bass player could have been a bit more polished, but the guitarist was exceptional. My dad also taught me how to surf, play baseball, football and how to throw the frisbee with a true California style.
In his later years he wrote more and played less but really enjoyed arranging music for other instruments to accompany the guitar. He recorded a few of these pieces in his sixties. Unfortunately, after his stroke in 2017 he was no longer able to play the guitar but still wrote music. Thankfully, he came to live with us and for the last 5 years of his life he got to enjoy some serious quality family time. Having seen both of his children die from his first marriage, he took great comfort and consolation in the time he was able to spend with Isaac and Rachel and loved the holidays together. He also cherished attending church together as a family. He was deeply touched by the wonderful music, choir, sermons, and liturgy at Redeemer Presbyterian Church in Austin.
We would often discuss sermons or books together. I remember a quote from Augustine that really struck a chord with him. The quote was, "Where I Am Not I, I Am More Happily I." As we discussed its meaning, we boiled it down to this. The less we see of ourselves and the more we see of Christ, in us, the happier we become (as the apostle Paul says, "It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me".) You see, every one of us has a vision of the person we long to be, or the person we pride ourselves to be, or even the person we imagine ourselves to be. Yet, after life humbles us with some hard knocks, and the failures and regrets begin to pile up. It is my hope that each one of us, like my dad, will turn to Christ, confess our sins, and receive forgiveness. It is only here, in Christ, that we are truly redeemed, accepted, and loved.
We also discussed how much children learn from us by simply watching and listening. We talked about how everyone in our home was learning from him how to be a grandfather and how to grow old, face difficulties, failing health and ultimately how to die. How to die with courage in the assurance of Christ's redemption.
On one of his final days my dad said to me, "Son, I think I'm dying." As I held his hand, I answered, "yes, we all are dad, you're just going to enter God's kingdom a bit sooner." So, I asked him to save me a seat and he can fill me in on everything I missed. One of his favorite passages of scripture was 1 Corinthians 13:10-12:
10 But when that which is perfect comes, then that which is in part shall be done away.
11 When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things.
12 For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.
It is a glorious thought that my dad is now beholding the face of God and has truly become the man he was destined to be.