The older you get the more inevitable it becomes that people you know and love are plucked away by death.

Sometimes you see it coming: a long illness, declining health, old age. But other times death comes so abruptly, so unexpectedly it leaves you feeling like that proverbial rug has been pulled out from under. It takes your breath away.

When I heard my friend John Klassen had died unexpectedly Aug. 3, I was in disbelief. I had visited with him by phone just a few weeks ago, laughing at his wry humor and getting an update on various people in my hometown in Minnesota, where he had strong ties.

John taught both of my daughters in band at Whitefish High School. He tolerated my older daughter, who played the baritone sax because it was loud and brash, and she liked to be loud and brash. My younger daughter was a phenomenal drummer, and I remember John once telling her that her sense of rhythm couldn’t be taught; it was inborn. My drummer girl marched alongside John for several Memorial Day parades to the Whitefish Cemetery, providing the cadence by which everyone fell into line. We still have a vintage pep band shirt with the motto, “Papa K and the Pep Tones.”

While John was a gifted teacher who drew the best out of his young musicians, it was his connection to Minnesota that helped me get to know him as well as I did.

About 15 years ago or so, I wrote a column in which I mentioned I was a graduate of Minnesota State University-Moorhead, and he called me up to say that he, too, was an MSUM alum. As we talked, we realized we had more in common that just an alma mater.

John had studied German at the university and I had, too. He was friends with one of the German instructors, Gisela Nobel, and I had loved her as a teacher but had lost contact through the years. I had spent time with Gisela at the lake cabin that John eventually purchased.

John also had worked in the construction business in the Hawley, Minnesota area where I grew up, and several of his close friends were people I knew. He loved the Hawley Rodeo staged every summer. Our paths had crossed in many ways.

After this “it’s a small world” conversation, John arranged to have Gisela visit him in Whitefish in 2002, and we reconnected. What struck me through the ensuing years was how tenderly John and his family cared for Gisela as she aged and began suffering from dementia. This was a friendship that went the distance, and he taught me a lot about giving unselfishly of oneself.

The last time I saw John was last summer at his lovely ranch west of Whitefish, when I stopped to pick up the trunk Gisela had used when she emigrated from Germany to the United States. John and his family had helped her downsize her belongings when she moved into a long-term care facility, and he thoughtfully asked if I wanted it as a keepsake.

No remembrance of John would be complete without noting his rather dry sense of humor. He got me good one time. I’d written about how silly I think it is that my hometown, when publicizing its annual rodeo, declares that Hawley is “Where the West Begins!”

John called me up, pretending to be the Hawley Herald editor and began taking me to task for belittling Hawley and its beloved rodeo. As I began apologizing profusely — thinking it truly was the editor — John paused and said with a snicker, “This is Klassen.”

He’d often refer to himself by his last name. In fact, when he’d call I could expect to hear “Hintze? Das ist Klassen.”

I was thinking about John a few days ago as I was perusing Facebook, and one of my friends, also a music teacher, had been tagged with a sentiment that was profoundly appropriate in that moment:

“Everyone who remembers his own education remembers teachers, not methods and techniques. The teacher is the heart of the educational system.”

John was a wonderful teacher and a good friend. We’ll miss him deeply.

Auf Wiedersehen, Mr. Klassen.

Features editor Lynnette Hintze may be reached at 758-4421 or by email at lhintze@dailyinterlake.com.