Lorenzo Giulini, born on May 7, 1927 in The Hague, Netherlands, passed away on November 1, 2025 , in Charlotte, N.C, USA. A man of conviction, courage, intellect, curiosity, and love. A man who lived nearly a century and used every one of those years to learn, to serve, and to seek beauty in the world.
He was born into the very well to do Giulini family, and as a young student in boarding school he dreamed—not of wealth, not of status, but of music. He wanted to be a cellist. Music was his first language of the soul. But in 1939, the world changed. War broke his childhood plans open. The cello fell silent.
As a teenager during World War II, he and his brother risked everything to act as double agents within the Hitler Youth. While the world shouted hatred, these two young boys quietly, bravely helped Jewish families escape toward Poland. Later, he hid in The Hague, behind the walls in a small house very similar to Anne Frank. He carried those memories his whole life—not as scars, but as warnings.
After the war he worked in a bookstore, learned 7 languages, and reinvented himself. In 1953, he left a ruined Europe behind—along with any type of possible inheritence—and started all over in South America. He taught Latin and Greek to the children of the Dutch ambassador in Caracas, Venezuela. And then he met the great love of his life at the Dutch embassy. She was Catholic, he was atheist, and no church would marry them. But he believed in love more than categories or doctrine, so he did what only he would think to do—he convinced the Archbishop of Venezuela to marry them personally. That was November 20, 1954. Lorenzo and Peggy Giulini.
From 1954 to 1966, they lived richly—travel, contests, culture. They chose to savor life together before starting a family, and on January 7, 1966, their son Cito was born.
Professionally, he became an environmentalist within Shell Oil, working not to exploit nature but to repair it. In Lake Maracaibo, he pioneered a process to recover thick spill oil and resell it—turning waste into resource. His work took him across the world, sometimes alongside legends like Red Adair. When Shell Venezuela was nationalized in 1976 and he was offered a relocation back to Holland, he refused—not because it wasn’t a good opportunity, but because he would not uproot his son. His family came first, always.
In 1983 Venezuelas economy started to decline and he decided to retire early and move to the United States where he helped his wife start a successful dog kennel in Charlotte, North Carolina. There, he began a new chapter—not of survival, but of contribution.
From 1984 to 2014, he became a consultant for WDAV Classical Radio, a patron of the Charlotte Symphony Orchestra and Queens College Chamber Music. He became a mentor at the Mint Museum where his lectures on Maya and Inca civilizations were legendary—delivered with the passion of someone who believed knowledge should be shared, not hoarded. He even turned down a dangerous job offer to help clean the oil fields in Kuwait after the Gulf War. Peggy asked him not to risk his life again. He listened. Love guided him more strongly than ambition ever could.
When he traveled back to Europe in 2014 and 2016 with his beloved wife, he sensed time catching up. He stayed involved in music, though—always music—because that first dream of becoming a cellist never truly died. In the final years, as his wife’s health declined, he kept his promise to her: he cared for her with total devotion. And when she passed in 2023, his words were “When a 93 year old human being dies, it is not a tragedy.”
From 2023 until October 2025, his son kept him busy going to concerts, discovering new musicians, hearing the instruments he once dreamed of mastering, going to get Sushi and Pho, having his daily rum on the rocks.
And then, slowly, he began to let go.
At 98 years old, he looked at a world shifting once again toward fear and division. Having lived through fascism once before, he recognized the signs. He told Cito:
“I’m ready to move on. This is looking horribly reminiscent of the 1930s.” His sense of balance, his kidneys, his eyes and his ears were starting to fail, but his brain was with us until the very last days.
Lorenzo leaned towards the left, and did not belong to any church, but believed fiercely in human dignity and justice. He lived his convictions without needing applause. He stood against hate—once as a teenager risking his life, and again as an old man watching history repeat itself. He leaves behind a legacy not measured in money or titles, but in character:
He saved lives when he was just a boy.
He crossed continents to build a life rooted in love.
He chose family over career.
He never stopped learning, questioning, or listening and lived with integrity.
To know him was to witness a life fully lived.
Goodbye to a father, a husband, a humanist, a teacher and a quiet hero.
He is survived by his only son Cito, his nephew Michel and his son and two daughters, his niece Marina and her daughter, and his cousin Lorenzo and wife Chris and their children. Included of course are Jay (Peggy’s nephew) and Cathy (Peggy’s niece).
So, to repeat his words, “When a 98 year old human being dies, it is not a tragedy”. He will be missed.
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