Some souls expertly embrace the music of life. Others ardently amplify it. When the curtain falls, both deserve an ovation.
Paul LaBelle was among the rarest of musicians – a born performer who actually made a living making music. With his band, The Exact Change, Paul became a regional icon who played for presidents and governors and toured with jazz, blues and doo-wop giants like Cab Calloway, Bo Diddley and Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons.
The Exact Change brought joy to countless weddings, proms and parties. Paul used his good fortune to bless others, founding an annual fundraising event for the Northeast Regional Cancer Institute, mentoring young performers and teaching guitar to kids who had their own dreams of onstage stardom.
Paul unexpectedly took his final bow on Friday. He was 78. His obituary was published Tuesday.
George Bieber passed away on Friday, too. He was 70, and like Paul, his obituary (also published Tuesday) contains too many examples of his dedication to family, friends, and public service to cover here. George was president of Moosic Borough Council and a former 14-year director on the Riverside School Board. He served 17 years as public safety director at Wilkes-Barre/Scranton International Airport.
George was a born mentor who made a difference in countless lives, including mine. To the many who knew him, loved him and learned from him, George’s infectious laugh and the warm, gravelly baritone that drove it was music for the soul. George was instrumental in convincing me to stick with local journalism as a career. So was Paul.
Back in the day, I covered concerts on Montage Mountain. I’d talk to people at the show, write a review and file it for the next day’s newspapers. This was before cellphones became ubiquitous, so I used a payphone to relay my stories to the copy desk. George was the general manager of the venue. I’d been working up there for a while before we were formally introduced. We got to talking, and I shared the archaic process of filing my reports by payphone.
George replied with his signature mischievous grin, rolled his eyes and asked, “Why?”
By the next show, George set me up with space in his office. I could write on my laptop and use a landline to file. Soon, I was emailing my stories and getting real-time feedback from George and his staff. It was a great group, and being accepted by them made me feel better about myself. I didn’t expect to last long in this business, but George always encouraged me to keep going.
“Ya got talent, kid,” he would say. “That’s what matters.”
After I went back to covering hard news and became a reported opinion columnist, I didn’t see George much. Every once in a while (usually when I was taking heat for something I wrote), George would shoot me a note or call to buck me up. He was an extremely busy man, but he always found time to be there for anyone in need of a kind word or honest advice.
When I got sober, George was one of the first to reach out and wish me well and encourage me to stick with it. I hadn’t spoken to him in years, but it seemed like no time had passed. George’s greatest gift was seeing the best in others and nudging them to see it, too.
Paul had a similarly deft touch. In a past life, I played guitar in a handful of bands that ranged from pretty good to truly awful. Playing music onstage is exhilarating, but rarely profitable. I’ve always been in awe of the few who make a living making music. Paul did that and so much more.
Music was the means by which Paul arranged his other gifts to strike the right chords in others. When I was out of rhythm, a note or call from Paul put me back on the beat. No matter how dissonant the current verse, he assured me the chorus was coming soon.
“You make music with words,” he’d say. I have none to convey how much I needed to hear that from someone like him. (It didn’t hurt that onstage, he looked a little like my lifelong hero, Johnny Cash.)
The lessons Paul taught stretched far beyond the fretboard. He was an impresario of joyful expression who commanded the stage with a gentle authority that left no doubt about who was leading the band. Back in the day, the former owners of this newspaper hosted an annual holiday party for employees. Paul was part of the family, and The Exact Change always brought the house down. Their take on Springsteen’s “Rosalita” rivaled the E Street Band’s. Paul was “The Boss,” but he always put the spotlight on his band.
All great performances eventually run out of encores. My heart goes out to the families and friends of these two beautiful souls. I was raised to remember kindnesses and pay my respects. There’s plenty of misery to opine on at the moment, but all that noise will still be here tomorrow.
Paul and George won’t. The world is a lesser place without them, but the music they made and amplified plays on in those of us who were blessed to hear it live.
Bravo, gentlemen. And thanks.
CHRIS KELLY, the Times-Tribune columnist, is grateful for good souls in hard times. Contact the writer: ckelly@scrantontimes.com; @cjkink on X; Chris Kelly, The Times-Tribune on Facebook.