(January 1995)
By GREGG KIRK
At 10 a.m. on Tuesday, December 19 — a week to the day after the fourth annual Delaware Valley Music Poll Awards – Carol L. Schutzbank died from heart failure at Temple University Hospital. She would have been 35 years old on January 5, 1996.

It’s a bit ironic and it may sound rather odd, but in spite of Carol’s precarious condition — she suffered a heart attack last February as a result of a rare blood disease that caused her blood to clot throughout her body — the reports of her death shocked those in the Philadelphia (as well as national) music community.

Why? Because Carol Schutzbank was not the type of person to relent to defeat and she did not allow many things to stop her. The fact that she was functioning on less than half of her heart and only one of her lungs did not slow her from her normal activities — writing and editing B-Side Magazine, writing for MAPPS Magazine and being our Philadelphia music correspondent in her monthly column, “Olio.” Her “daily gig,” so to speak, was her role as a social services organizer at Public Private Ventures in Philadelphia, but a job she took on and devoted as much time to was her capacity as Executive Board Member of the Delaware Valley Music Poll Awards.

As a former manager of Philly bands like Ruin and Electric Love Muffin, a music writer, and inveterate music industry insider, Carol’s leadership role at the music awards was the culmination of all her abilities. She was instrumental in every aspect of planning for the entire production, including the assembly of the awards ceremony itself, and she did an amazing job of reaching outside of the community in an effort to draw attention to this area’s music scene. Proof of this could be seen by the people who showed to honor her at this year’s awards ceremony. Among those in attendance were SubPop Records Jonathan Poneman, JAMPAC’s Richard White and Nirvana/JAMPAC’s Krist Novoselic. Carol made these arrangements and also conducted press interviews from her hospital bed at Temple University Hospital.

I had known Carol for almost seven years. I first met her when she was brought on as staff columnist for Big Shout Magazine in 1989. I worked with her on a casual basis until 1992 when I asked her to become an acting member of the Delaware Valley Music Poll Awards. She immediately took a leadership role and became the organization’s most active member. But it wasn’t until this year that I got to know Carol more closely. This was by far the most difficult time the board of directors has faced — board members came and went, job responsibilities caused other members to pull back from their duties, and a combination of aggravating setbacks gave us reason to wonder if it was a good idea to throw this year’s ceremony at all. Not once did Carol suggest that we give up; instead her energy and enthusiasm served as a rallying point for the other board members and myself.

On October 20, 1995 Carol took the biggest step of all and underwent a heart transplant. Even though she experienced a serious amount of rejection to the heart at first, treatments of immuno-therapy seemed to work. In fact, just a few weeks before the awards ceremony Carol was doing so well, she went shopping for a dress to wear the night of the event. She confided in me that day that it had been psychologically good for her to do this — it was a sign she was putting her illness behind her.

Therefore, I was unpleasantly surprise when Carol called me the night before the ceremony and asked, “Are you sitting down?” She then related that she was spiking a 101-degree fever and was admitting herself to the hospital. Even at this point, knowing Carol’s ability to bounce back, I did not get worried. We continued to make plans for her to be at the awards, but when she called me the next day, I knew things were getting worse. When I half-joked that I would come kidnap her from the hospital if she wanted me to, she told me soberly her heart had stopped for a time the night before. When I got alarmed, she said, “Don’t worry about me, you’ve got to keep your shit together for the awards!” It was this type of behavior that typified Carol’s character — she was selfless and committed, but more than anything else, determined.

We did keep our shit together for the awards ceremony, and we managed to pull it off for the first time without Carol being backstage, barking orders and keeping a semblance of sanity. I called her the next day, fully prepared to bring up the night’s program and go over the craziness, blow-by-blow. But Carol did not answer the phone in her room and after calling patient information, I learned that she had been moved to the cardiac care unit. Her condition had become more grave. When I finally got her on the phone the next day, she discouraged me from coming to see her because she didn’t feel up to it. “Pat yourself on the back,” she said in a tone that was mixed with disappointment and pride. “You pulled it off.”

That was the last time I talked to her. The next day, the doctors decided to use more serious treatments, part of which included introducing a poison called curare that induces paralysis — the idea was to keep her still so her damaged heart wouldn’t work too hard. But Carol steadily declined; her immune system was concentrating on destroying her heart.

I was there the night they pulled her off of life support, and I was among her family and close friends, squeezing her hand after they reduced the level of curare they were administering. It was not how I wanted to remember her, but when the drug began to wear off a look of recognition and surprise passed over her face when I leaned over to talk to her. I felt fortunate for being there. I had not gotten the chance to see Carol after the awards ceremony, and it was important for me to let her know I was at her side.

Carol was buried in Trenton, NJ on Friday December 22 in the same dress she bought to wear the night of the awards ceremony. There were perhaps more than a hundred at her funeral — some family and friends, and a huge contingent of those she had worked with in the music community. The personal sense of loss is great, but the impact of her passing will ultimately fall upon the Delaware Valley music scene, which she tirelessly promoted at music conferences, in phone calls, and through her network of industry connections. No one I’ve known has worked so hard for something with so little personal reward.

Several events and gatherings are being planned in honor of Carol Schutzbank. Donations are being accepted for the Carol L. Schutzbank Memorial Fund c/o the Heart Transplant Unit, Temple University Hospital, Parkinson Pavilion #319, Philadelphia, PA 19140.