Biography

John 5:24

“Very truly I tell you, whoever hears my word and believes Him who sent me has eternal life and will not be judged but has crossed over from death to life.”

Eulogy For Our Father – From His Children

Good morning, everyone.

As we stand before you today to honor and celebrate the life of our beloved father, Vincent Joseph Robert Richter, I speak on behalf of my mother, my siblings, and the entire Richter family when I say, thank you. Your presence, love, support, and kindness during this difficult time mean more to us than words can ever express.

Our father was, and always will be, our hero and our role model. He was kind, humble, patient, and extraordinarily hardworking. He was also blessed with a musical gift that was simply divine. To us, he wasn’t just a parent, he was a guide, a source of wisdom, and a man who led by quiet yet powerful example.

As his children, we carry countless memories of him that continue to warm our hearts. Whether it was showing us how to make paper airplanes or keeping us entertained with his playful mimicry, barking like a dog, bleating like a goat, meowing like a cat, or crowing like a rooster, he filled our childhood with joy, laughter, and wonder.

We always looked forward to his return home from his travels across West Africa, where he taught at various universities. Each homecoming was a celebration.

Personally, what I admired most about our father was his musical brilliance, always displayed with grace, restraint, and humility. Though he possessed unmatched mastery on the piano, he never boasted or sought attention. He would only play publicly when persistently urged, and even then, with such modesty.

One cherished memory takes me back to our days at the National Academy of Music in Winneba where I lived with him for a couple of years in the late 1980s. I’d be practicing piano in the living room, struggling through a piece. From his bedroom, without even seeing the piano, he’d call out, “Wrong note, Harold. It’s an A… or a B… or F-sharp.” I used to sit there in awe, wondering, “How does he even know that I’m playing a wrong note?” It wasn’t until later, as I grew more musically advanced, that I learned he had what is referred to as Perfect Pitch or Absolute Pitch, it is the rare ability to identify musical notes by ear without any reference. Just another sign of his remarkable gift.

Another vivid memory took place one late afternoon when I walked into his office at the Academy. There he was, seated at the piano with a few friends gathered around. To my amazement, he casually picked up the complete collection of Chopin’s Piano Waltzes and began playing them, one after the other, with such effortless grace, it was as if the keys were simply obeying his thoughts. It was like watching a knife glide through butter, smooth, precise, and mesmerizing.

Just when I thought the moment couldn’t get any more magical, he reached for Handel’s Messiah and began to play and sing from it: Comfort Ye, My People and Every Valley Shall Be Exalted, his voice and the music weaving together in a way that felt both powerful and intimate. That surreal moment etched itself into my heart, and it’s one I’ll carry with me always.

Another cherished and frankly mouthwatering memory of our father was his top-tier culinary skills. The man could turn any meal into a masterpiece and whip up soups and salads that would make a chef weep with envy. His spaghetti? Legendary. As my younger brother Daniel recalls, the best jollof rice he’s ever tasted came from our dad’s kitchen, and that was during a medical emergency! Apparently, nothing heals faster than Dad’s jollof. Forget antibiotics, just serve a plate of that rice and watch miracles happen.

One of our favorite stories that Dad loved to tell (and we loved to hear) was from his student days in the Netherlands in the 1960s. Picture this: he’s zooming around on a motorcycle and gets pulled over by Dutch police for speeding. They talk to him in Dutch, and he responds in English. Thinking he didn’t understand them, the officers let loose a few less than polite comments. He said nothing, took the ticket like a gentleman, and then, after they were done, he responded in fluent Dutch.

You should have seen the look on their faces, he recalled. He just let his multilingual mic-drop do the talking. Classic Dad, calm, classy, and a little bit savage.

From the Specialist Training College and the National Academy of Music in Winneba, all the way to the School of Performing Arts at the University of Ghana, where I had the honor of studying under him (yes, imagine the pressure of having your dad as your music lecturer), he left behind a legacy that continues to echo through lecture halls and concert stages.

To his colleagues and students, he was affectionately known as “The Almighty of the Piano” and “Chief Galantarian.” But my personal favorite nickname was one I gave him myself: “CD.” Why? Because when he played, the piano sounded as flawless as a compact disc, crisp, precise, and perfectly polished. His sight-reading, rhythmic command, and technique made it feel as if you were listening to a master recording. All you had to do was sit back and be amazed.

Beyond the concert and lecture halls, our father was also a broadcaster. Many may not know that he once hosted a classical music program on the now-defunct Groove FM Radio Station, called Hours With The Masters. Every Sunday, he would share not just music, but the rich stories and history behind it, a tradition I looked forward to with great anticipation. Our conversations about music were endless, enriching, and inspiring. Those are the moments I miss most.

After retiring from public life, he found peace in the simple pleasures of home, spending his days with his loving wife, Gladys, and his cherished grandchildren, whom he adored.

Our father was dearly loved, deeply respected, and profoundly impactful. His legacy will live on in the lives he touched, the music he created, and the values he instilled in all of us. We will miss him more than words can say.

Rest well, Daddy. We love you always.