For 47 years, he filled his world with the sounds of music, including earning a platinum record for his guitar work.
By LOGAN NEILL, Times Correspondent
Published August 5, 2005
SPRING HILL - The sound of her husband's voice through the stereo speakers brings a smile to Teri Lyon's face. His gentle rendering of Elton John's Your Song is a sweet sentiment.
But when he gets to the line, "I hope you don't mind that I put down in words, how wonderful life is when you're in the world," tears begin to flow from Teri's eyes.
Her husband and life partner, Jack Justis, died of a heart attack Monday at the age of 62. And now, sitting in the bedroom that served as his office, Teri is trying her best to focus on the good times.
The walls are filled with memories of Jack's 47 years as a musician. In an early photo, he's a handsome, young teenager in jacket and tie, proudly holding his Gibson guitar. An image taken a decade later shows him in bell-bottom pants and sporting shoulder-length hair.
However, it is the framed platinum record that Teri points to first when a visitor walks in. The prestigious award, which Jack earned for his guitar work on the original soundtrack recording of Jesus Christ Superstar, was perhaps his most proud achievement, she says.
"Music was Jack's life," Teri said. "He gave it everything he had, and he was so good at it. I just want people to know that."
Jack Justis never received the acclaim he deserved. Despite his talents as a singer, songwriter and guitarist, the path to music stardom proved elusive. A member of several promising bands in the 1960s and 1970s, he could never quite land the kind of deal that would bring his music to the mass public.
"He came close several times," said Teri. "There were a lot of frustrations, but he was never bitter about it. All Jack ever wanted to do was to make music."
Born Jack Crupi in Rochester, N.Y., he grew up during the dawn of rock 'n' roll music. He picked up his first guitar at 15, and shortly after joined a fledgling band called the Three Counts. A couple of years later, he formed his own trio, adopting the stage name Jack Justis at the suggestion of a record producer.
In 1963, the group, which called itself the Justis Brothers, released a single, Count On Me, for a subsidiary label of Motown Records. But when attempts to record a followup fizzled, Jack left to team up with friend and singer Billy Travis to form the Travis-Justis Group.
With its '60s psychedelic sound, the Travis-Justis group garnered the interest of Columbia Records. However, two released singles failed to spawn much radio interest, and the band was dropped by the label. While performing at a New York nightclub a few months later, a producer for the soon-to-be-launched Jesus Chris Superstar recording session walked in. Although he was supposed to be listening to a guitarist in a club down the street, he fell in love with Jack's playing and offered him the job as guitarist for the session.
By the early 1980s, Jack was tiring of the music business. He moved to California, where he devoted his talents to recording sessions, teaching and an occasional nightclub gig. In 1982, he ran across Teri singing in a nightclub and asked if she would lend her voice to a recording project he was working on.
Teri recalls that she was immediately impressed with Jack's knowledge and enthusiasm for music. She also was smitten by his gentle soul as a person. They married and formed a music duo that became a popular fixture, singing popular songs in restaurants, clubs and cruise ships around Southern California.
Retiring to Spring Hill two years ago, Teri and Jack decided to pursue their music on a part-time basis, mostly for private functions. With the aid of a programmable keyboard, they could summon nearly 200 pop, country, rock, R&B and blues songs in their repertoire.
This weekend, they were to perform at the Spin-A-Mania game room in Spring Hill, their regular gig for the past few months. But on Monday morning, Jack told Teri he wasn't feeling well. A few moments later, he collapsed onto the floor. Paramedics were unable to save him.
"It's hard to grasp," Teri said. "He loved life so much. He had a gift that he loved sharing with people. He loved seeing them smile."
