From Bob Amos
Our dear friend and brother Mike Lantz passed away on the evening of Wednesday March 29, surrounded by family and friends. His passing was very peaceful, leaving no doubt that Mike was ready to go. We will miss him terribly, but his bright spirit still shines all around us through the wonderful music, fellowship and love that he left behind. Please keep Mike, his wife Vona, and his family and friends in your prayers. Also, for those of you who can, please try to attend the Sunday May 21st concert in honor of Mike at the Swallow Hill Music Association in Denver, CO.

A memorial service was held for Mike in Denver on Tuesday April 4, 2006. It was attended by his family, and many friends and colleagues. Ron L. and Bob D. and I played several songs, including "One Beautiful Day", "Amazing Grace" and "The Road Home", with the assistance of our buddy Glenn Zanke from the Bluegrass Patriots on tenor vocals. I spoke a bit about Mike and then  sang a song called "Reunion" that I wrote for him. Ron L. gave an incredible Eulogy which is posted below. Mike's brother Steve also wrote a wonderful tribute to Mike which was read at the service. The reception area was full of paintings done by Mike (Mike was a very talented artist), and hundreds of great photos from throughout his life, including a huge mural of wonderful photos put together by Julie Lynam. Mike's mandolin was also there, on a stand up front, and Ron played it on several of the songs that we did. It was a beautiful service.Mike would have been embarassed by all the attention, but he would have loved it just the same.

The following paintings (by Mike) and verses were in the service pamphlet:

from 2nd Corinthians 4:16-18

So we do not lose heart. Even though our outer nature is wasting away, our inner nature is being renewed day by day. For this slight momentary affliction is preparing us for an eternal weight of glory beyond all measure, because we look not at what can be seen but at what cannot be seen; for what can be seen is temporary, but what cannot be seen is eternal.
 
 

From Kahlil Gibran's The Prophet

What is it to die but to stand naked in the wind
and to melt into the sun?
And what is it to cease breathing,
but to free the breath from its restless tides,
that it may rise and expand
and seek God unencumbered?

Only when you drink from the river of silence
shall you indeed sing.
And when you have reached the mountain top,
then you shall begin to climb.
And when the earth shall claim your limbs,
then you shall truly dance.
 

Bob Amos's comments about Mike
and lyrics to "Reunion", his song for Mike
From Mike's Memorial Service, April 4, 2006

There were many chapters in Mike Lantz's life, as we can all see by looking out and seeing so many friends from so many places here today.  I feel so very blessed to have shared in one of those chapters. In 1982 I moved to Colorado, and very soon after that I met Mike Lantz. We were both 24 at the time. The first time we sang together we both knew instantly that there was musical magic there. But there was also instantly the foundations of what I knew would be a great and lasting friendship.We started  singing together regularly, and a little later we founded the band Front Range. Our first "formal" gig was in 1984. Ron joined us in 1989, and Bob Dick in 1991 and at that point our career as a band really took off: 7 CDs, concerts and festivals in 42 states, tours in 12 countries and 3 continents: thousands of miles traveled and thousands of hours spent together. Mike's angelic tenor voice, and stunning mandolin work was a huge part of our sound. And his sparkling, gentle personality both on and off stage was a big part of the FR magic. Simply put, everyone who ever met Mike loved him.

Mike and I both turned 48 last year, and so the second half of his life, and the second half of mine so far has been spent, at least in part,  playing music together, and enjoying each other's company. Those are two things that Front Range has always done very, very well. But as good as the music was, the more important thing by far was the fellowship. The four of us have always had a great time being together. Ron or Bob Dick could tell you  as well as I can,  Front Range is truly a "Band of Brothers". And brothers we will always remain.

Over the many years and many miles together the four of us would often talk about reunions far in the future. Even when we reached the point when our music would no longer be "suitable for public performance", we knew that we'd still be getting together to pick, sing, and just simply to enjoy each other's company.And that's what make's this time so difficult. There will always be an empty chair at those reunions now. But I also know very certainly that this separation is only temporary. And Mike knew that too. His last words to me have been a great comfort over the past weeks. When I  said goodbye to Mike, about a week before he died, he took my hand in his and said "I'm gonna miss you....." And how like Mike it was to be the one giving words of comfort. But I believe that Mike had a clear vision of where he was going, and that we couldn't go there with him yet, and that HE would miss US as much as we'll miss him. And as clearly as I can see the day ahead, I KNOW that one day we will all be together again, laughing, picking and singing with Mike.

Reunion
by Bob Amos

There are songs that we play at the end of the day,
and their sweet words and melodies tell
of a wonderful time when old friends reunite,
and never again say farewell

And I'll meet you there, I will meet you there
I will meet you there my friend
I will meet you over the hills
In the land where our long journies end
And we'll all sing together again

Oh it's hard when you find with the passage of time
that the moments to soon slip away
So instead let us hold to the wonderful hope
That we'll all be together some day

And I'll meet you there, I will meet you there
I will meet you there my friend
I will meet you over the hills
In the land where our long journies end
And we'll all sing together again
 
 

Ron Lynam's Eulogy for Mike
Given at Mike's Memorial Service Tuesday April 4, 2006
 

Well, first I have to say that all this would have completely embarrassed Mike. He was never one to seek out the spotlight and to know that a few hundred of his closest friends were here to honor him would have been completely overwhelming. He was never quite sure he wanted to be on stage. I once had to get him down on the floor and tickle him to get him to relax enough to go do our showcase at IBMA. Still, I can't quite believe that he's not here. It just doesn't seem possible that the last year really happened. A world without Stumpy just doesn't seem possible. You probably see Mike as I do, picking the fire out of the mandolin or talking to kids or laughing and telling jokes with his giant coffee mug in hand or riding one of his bicycles or zipping off down the road on his motorcycle. That's the Mike we all remember, the energetic guy who loved life. The man fighting for his life, incapacitated by a brutal illness; that's the Mike I can't quite come to grips with but that's the one we saw for the last year.

Mike and I have been the closest of friends now, brothers, really, for a long time. I started playing with Front Range in 1989 after they had been going for five years or so in various configurations. We traveled what must be hundreds of thousands of miles together, he and I and Bob and Bob, first in a van and later on airplanes. We played hundreds of shows, some memorable and some pretty forgettable. We always managed to have a good time, though, and I always looked forward to the next one. I don't know how to sum up the feelings I have for Mike (and the other Front Range guys for that matter), but I've decided that I can relate some of the lessons I learned from Mike. He really was my teacher in a lot of ways. I think these lessons revealed a lot about Mike, although some were more profound than others.

One lesson was "Always read road signs" The traveling was certainly not Mike's favorite part of this but he was a trooper. He was a great driver but not always the greatest navigator. At one point we were coming back from Montana to do a show in Fort Collins and Mike was driving. Bob Amos and I swore one of us would always be awake when it came time to make a turn off the interstate or something because Mike didnít pay much attention to signs. Sure enough, we were both asleep when it came time to turn on I25 from I90 and we missed it. When I woke up I noticed that the mileage signs were going up, not down, and then I saw a sign for Fargo, North Dakota. "Mike, where are we?" He said, "I don't know, I'm just driving." Somehow we made it to the gig but Mike picked up a new nickname, "Wrong way".

Another simple lesson was "Read directions on cans of food." Mike was always concerned with eating healthily but sometimes he slipped. We were in upstate New York and stopped to get something to eat at a convenience store. The only thing Mike could find that was even close to something he would eat was a microwave tub of spaghetti-o's. He popped it in the microwave at the store and started it up. After a minute or so he realized he hadn't opened the container like it said on the directions. He said "oh, no" and opened the microwave door just in time for the spaghetti-o's to explode. He was covered in them, his outline was traced on the wall behind him in spaghetti-o's. The rest of us were rolling on the floor, but I don't think the store clerk thought it was that funny..

Another one was "you don't always get what you pay for". We were signing CDs at a festival. Mike loved really fancy pens and he pulled out one to start signing. Someone asked "how much did that one cost?" He said "Over a hundred dollars". When he started to sign his name, though, it didn't work. I asked him "how much does it cost to get one that works" and Bob Dick immediately chimed in "29 cents".

Other lessons were more important,though. Such as the lesson he taught every day of his life in being kind and gentle. Or the lessons he taught in being a true artist, and he was an artist in everything he did, from painting to cooking to playing music to just everyday living. Or the lessons he tried to teach me in accepting the good with the bad and not being so frustrated by the inanities of life.

I think he saved the biggest lesson for last, though. When he realized what the disease was that he had and what it would mean for the lives of he and Vona, and what his chances of beating it were, he made a conscious decision not to be bitter, not to feel sorry for himself but to face his ordeal with a positive attitude and to do what he had to do. Although Julie and I, and I'm sure Vona and the rest of Mikes' family and friends could feel anger and frustration and the unfairness of what was happening to him, he never let on that he was feeling the same thing. Vona said that, throughout this ordeal he never once complained. I really think that what he was teaching us was how to die, with dignity and grace and, most of all, courage. Julie and I were with Mike and Vona and their families when Mike died last Wednesday. It almost seemed like he was waiting for us all to be together before he went. He couldn't speak, but he looked very intently at us and then he began to slip away. That strong heart of his kept him alive for a few hours longer but finally it too gave up. It was very healing for me to see him finally at peace after the struggle he went through. When he said goodbye to Bob and I a couple of weeks ago, after a wonderful day we spent playing music for him and talking about old times, he said "I'm going to miss you" almost as if we were the ones going away. I know the truth is that we are going to miss him, but I am so thankful that he was my friend, my brother, and that I am always going to have a piece of him in my heart and that he will always be with me.
 
 

The following is from an email that Bob Dick sent out to his mailing list:

Mike was a wonderful person, a great mandolin and tenor singer, and a loved guidance counselor. In Front Range he was a founding member along with Bob Amos. They started playing music together in the mid 1980s and the band developed into a nationally and internationally touring band throughout the 1990s. We slowed down over the last few years, but it was always a pleasure to get together for a festival or concert. I always enjoyed getting a chance to talk with Mike. He was a great listener. He was so talented, he painted a beautiful scene of Holland and gave it to Krissy and me as a wedding present. He was also great at "napkin" art, scribbling away on a napkin in a restaurant somewhere out on the road, creating a masterpiece with just the pen in his pocket.

He was often quiet on stage, but boy could he make us laugh off stage. His tenor voice was the key to the Front Range trio, I feel fortunate to have been able to sing with him for so many years. His mandolin playing was truly unique, we call him the King of the blues mandolin. He also was an accomplished banjo, fiddle and guitar player.

When it seemed evident that he wasn't going to make it, I thought he actually did make it. He had done so much in his life, from being in a band that recorded on Sugar Hill records and toured all over the place, to getting his master's degree and becoming a counselor who was loved by the students, to having a devoted wife who worked so hard to take care of him through his sickness, to having his motorcycle and his road bikes riding through the Rockies, Mike lived a great life. He will live on forever through our memories and his music. Rest in peace my good friend. We'll catch up to you later.
 
 

If you have memories, stories or photos of Mike, please feel free to send them in.
On the next page we are going to post stories/memories and photos as they come in.
Please don't be disappointed if everything doesn't get on the page.
We'll do our best to get as much on as possible.
If you want to email us with stories, memories etc., that's fine,
but if you have photos, please send them by regular mail.
to:  Bob Amos/FRONT RANGE, P.O. 232, St. Johnsbury VT, 05819