Name: Lighthouse Memorials & Receptions
Address: Torrance, CA

This photo Pete sent to me in 2015. Such an uplifting photo- such joy in their faces!  May rest in eternal peace together.

I’m so sorry to learn today of Pete’s passing. He was a dear friend of my mother’s back when he and Varta (Barbara) were together. They came to visit us in Cincinnati back in the early 80’s. He was a very dedicated husband to dear Varta. 
My mother kept in contact with them over the years. After my mom passed in 2009, I continued to keep in contact with Pete over the years to keep him updated on the family. We would email each other on occasion and send Christmas cards. When he informed me that he had met and married LaVonne, I was very happy for them both.  We continued to keep in contact from time to time until a few years ago when I didn’t hear back from email or Christmas cards. 
Today I came across a picture of him and LaVonne he had sent back in 2015 and was curious if he was still with us. Sadly, I  found this obituary.  
He was a wonderful person and such a kind soul. God bless him.

Conducting the band, back when teachers wore ties to work.

Had to add one more picture of my dad's 300SL, here with the top on.  July 1988 (not 1986), when the car was sold.

My dad posing with his 1962 300SL Roadster, July 1986.  This was when he sold the car.  The hard top is removed in this photo.  You can see the red leather interior.

Conducting the Lincoln band at the old Santa Monica mall, in front of Harris and Frank Department Store.  July, 1970.

The famous Avner Ash photo, which was published at the time.  June 1964, age 30.

This picture was blown up portrait size and hung in my parents' bedroom throughout my childhood.

I think this is my dad graduating from Sacred Heart Catholic school (8th grade).  Year is 1947, age 13 years old.  The inscription reads "To Grandma Annie, From Pete, Jr."  Grandma Annie was his fraternal grandmother.

My dad here with his mother's family (Fernandez).  My dad's parents and grandparents are pictured, as well as his sister Emma Jean.  Circa 1944.

Pete truly changed my life, by bringing music into my heart and soul as our band and orchestra director at Lincoln Junior High.  (And I'll never forget him throwing a pink eraser at my older brother, Dick--who totally deserved it for acting up during rehearsal.) I thought I'd share this dedication from one of my mystery novels. Thank you, Mr. Schartz!

Pete loved to play host to the family at our various gatherings at 1060 over the years. From my earliest memories there was the smell of pipe tobacco, classical music playing in the background, and Pete excitedly telling the family of the newest wine he’d found  that he wanted to share with everyone. He always had a smile on his face and his enjoyment was evident. Thank you, Pete for contributing to those wonderful childhood memories.

Obituary

Peter John Schartz Jr. (Pete), 91, of Redondo Beach, California passed away on Saturday, June 14, 2025.

Pete was born March 22, 1934, in Brawley, CA. His father was Peter John Schartz (Sr.), and his mother was Delia Fernandez.

After attending Catholic school, Pete graduated from Brawley High School. He then attended USC and obtained a degree in Music Education. After graduation, he taught music and was band and orchestra leader at Lincoln Junior High School in Santa Monica.

In 1962, Pete married Barbara (Dukas) Wilson, a single mother of three children. Their son Peter was born in 1963.

After many years teaching music, Pete began teaching Spanish. He also taught English to newly immigrated students and became coordinator of the English-Second-Language (ESL) program at Lincoln.

Barbara suffered a major stroke in 1978, and Pete took early retirement in 1985 to become her full-time care giver. Pete took care of Barbara until her death in 2010.

In 2013, Pete married Lavonne Dismondi. They lived a peaceful life in Torrance until they moved to an Assisted Living facility in 2024. Lavonne passed in February 2025, and Pete followed in June of that year.

Pete was known for his love of classical and jazz music, Mercedes Benz automobiles, cigars and wine, USC football, and Mexican salsa music. He was a colorful character who was well liked by all who knew him.

Pete is survived by son Peter Schartz III; grandchildren Timothy and Savannah, stepchildren Debby, Joe, and Kathy; step grandchildren Kerry, Adam, and Lyndsey; sister Emma Jean; nephew Jim and nieces Sandy and Debbie.

A funeral service for Pete will be held Friday, July 11, 2025, from 10:00 AM to 11:00 AM at Lighthouse Memorials & Receptions, 5310 Torrance Blvd, Torrance, CA 90503. Following the funeral service will be a committal from 1:00 PM to 1:30 PM at City of Santa Monica Woodlawn Cemetery, Mausoleum & Mortuary - Funeral Home, Cremation & Burials, 1847 14th St, Santa Monica, CA 90404.

"Blues for a 300 SL" - part 3

A husky German voice said, “I am Dr. Woelke. Your husband has been in an accident. I am bringing him to the hotel soon.” I don’t remember what I did after that until the time Pete and the doctor walked through the door.

Pete had picked up the car and was starting back to the hotel. Two blocks from the repair shop he started across an intersection when he heard a Crash! … Thud!! He looked out of his left window and saw a man lying on the street. “I wondered where the hell he came from, if he’d dropped out of the sky. Then I looked at the right side of the car. A motorcycle was impaled in the Mercedes car door and the top of the car bulged in.”

The cyclist had come from the side street with such speed he was unable to stop or to miss the car. The motorcycle struck the right door, the rider bounced on the roof, caving it in, and landed on the opposite side of the car.

A neighborhood doctor rushed out, the police arrived, the cyclist taken to a hospital. The repair shop owner, on his way home, saw the accident, recognized the car, stopped and took it back to the shop.

But things could have been worse. I was pregnant at the time, and the impact could have caused the baby to arrive and everyone knows there just isn’t that much room in a 300 SL.

The Mercedes spent ten weeks touring Europe with one smashed side and became a conversation piece. During the many rainy days we had, the situation was especially trying. Water poured between the hardtop and body necessitating us to steal numerous hotel towels to keep the water blotted up. One Swiss innkeeper vehemently insisted that we demand a new car from Mercedes!

At the end of our trip, we took the car back to the factory for extensive repairs and three months later, we “took delivery” for the third time in San Pedro. We drove back to Santa Monica safely and the next day being Thanksgiving Day, we were thankful, indeed.

"Blues for a 300 SL" - part 2

Both drivers jumped out and with admirable restraint, Pete kept his hands off the offending driver. Watching, it seemed my husband’s German must have improved tremendously because he and the driver, a boy about 17, were having a lively conversation without the need for gestures. I listened closely, but it wasn’t German they were speaking.  We’d come thousands of miles to be hit by an American teenager!

The boy’s father was stationed with the 7th Army in Stuttgart.  And, since the family, insurance papers, etc. were all in the army housing at Boblingen, there we both drove.

We were led to an upstairs apartment. The boy threw open the door and called out, “Hey Dad.  Guess what? I just hit a 300 SL.”

Just at that moment, I arrived at the door. I saw the boy’s mother in the kitchen about to drain some spaghetti. With that announcement, she let out a “Jesus Christ!” and the spaghetti slipped into the sink.

His beer drinking father was unshaken, hardened old sergeant that he was. Perspiring in an undershirt and carrying his can of beer, he walked down to the car, nodded, and told the boy where to look for the insurance papers.

Factory repair meant a six week waiting period and the local M-B dealer in Stuttgart was swamped with work. We were forced to take the car to a recommended body shop and for two days we were street car tourists again.

At last came the afternoon we were to take delivery, again. I stayed in the hotel to finish packing while Pete went to pick up the car.

One hour. Two hours. Three hours. I began to pace up and down the lobby. The telephone rang and the hotel owner’s son called out, “Mrs. Schartz, telephone.”

The story below was written by my mom, Barbara, and printed in The Tricentric, a bi-monthly newsletter for the Mercedes-Benz Club of America (Los Angeles Section).  It was published in the May-June, 1965 edition, entitled "Blues for a 300 SL."  I posted a picture of the article, but it might be hard to read so I transcribed it below.  These events would have taken place during their honeymoon in June 1962.

I had heard my dad tell this story before, but I had the details mixed up.  Here is the story, though I have a feeling my mom took a few liberties with some details herself!  Due to the website limits, I will post this in parts: a memory shared by Varta!

========

Five o’clock traffic in Stuttgart is just like five o’clock traffic in any large city – miserable. But all of the other drivers had one thing on us, they knew where they were going. And we had one thing over them – we had just picked up our new ivory 300 SL from the factory.

Complicated by the intense heat of that July day, the enigma of the streets, and the cautiousness of a Mercedes owner, the trip back into town was grim. Instead of cutting in and out of lanes like our fellow German drivers, we stuck in one lane and before we could make a safe change, we found ourselves going around in circles in the parking lot of the Bahnhof!

Realizing our mistake (the second time around) we headed back to the exit when were stopped by a 1952 Mercedes sedan backing out of a parking spot, completely unaware we were behind.

Frantic, Pete looked in his rear view mirror – another car had come up behind us. I reached over and blew the horn. Pete blew the horn and swore, but the car kept coming. Bang! There went the three-pointed star on our grill, less than fifty minutes old from the factory.

I have a fond memory of my stepfather Pete involving his beloved Mercedes 300SL.

When I was 13, Pete took me along as navigator on a Mercedes Club road rally in a desolate area somewhere. The format was, you were given clues to a checkpoint and timed on how long it took you to get there.  Then you’d be given another set of clues to another checkpoint, etc.

We did well for the first three checkpoints, but then got hopelessly lost (probably due to the 13 year old navigator).  We drove around for an hour or more, trying to get back on track, but finally gave up and headed to the restaurant where they were going to have the awards ceremony.  

When they announced the awards, we were given a trophy for 2nd place!  We both just looked at each other and laughed.  Seeing as how we missed multiple checkpoints, I have no idea how they calculated the results.  Nevertheless, we scooped up our trophy and headed home – victorious!

This was one of many occasions when Pete performed his legendary reading-of-the-cards. 
He was not the kind of person who quickly skimmed over a birthday greeting, casually thanked the sender, and went on to the next card. He always took the time to savor each one like a fine wine. 
Every reading was interrupted with his own anecdotes and trips down memory lane. Sometimes his stories were long enough that he forgot where he left off. Ordinary Hallmark cards were made into something special and made the senders feel more appreciated than they deserved.
When Pete finally finished a card, we would all smile at his enthusiasm, look down at the stack of remaining cards, and check our watches.

Amongst former students, the mention of Mr. Schartz (we can't bring ourselves to say "Peter")  always elicits smiles, deep appreciation and loving respect for the special teacher who cared so much and gave so much of himself for us.  
I remember Mr. Schartz not only as my Lincoln Jr. High School Orchestra teacher, but also as the coach of my first serious string quartet.  We would meet regularly at his house at the foot of Franklin Hill (I believe Mary Carpenter played violin). I think we played Haydn or Mozart.  He was my first chamber music teacher, explaining how to listen to the other parts and players and adjust to their intonation, articulation, dynamic, etc.  I loved it!  This became my life work- teaching chamber music in New York, Cincinnati and Berlin, Germany.  
He had to put up with a lot of mischief (including from me- I remember having fun hiding double basses and unscrewing their endpins) and high spirits from an orchestra full of adolescents.  Sometimes he enjoyed kidding with us about it ("The two of you put together wouldn't make a half-wit."), but we all sensed the respect he had for us and what we could become.  That belief in our potential somehow got communicated.  Even now - 54 years after my class left Lincoln-, when we have reunions, all of us who knew him - in orchestra, band or Spanish - marvel at what a special teacher we had.  
None of us were surprised to hear how many of our names he still remembered even this year - and what instruments we played.  He hadn't forgotten us.  And we'll never forget him!

OBITUARY

Peter John Schartz Jr.

22 March, 1934 – 14 June, 2025

Lighthouse Memorials & Receptions

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