This obituary is a personal letter to my colleague and friend Schuhmann – written from the perspective of a companion who owes him a lot.
On May 2nd, I received the call that made time stand still for a moment.
Without warning, I was told that your heart suddenly stopped beating and that you are no longer with us. I still remember how my hand instinctively found its way to my own heart. At that moment, I felt a piercing pain go through me.
With you, I lost not only a colleague. I lost a friend who had a profound impact on me both personally and professionally. Without you, I would not be where I am today. I am not alone in my grief. On the contrary.
Because you, dear Schuhmann, shaped our entire editorial team and MeinMMO like no other.
Our shared journey
Eight years ago, I started working as a freelance writer for MeinMMO alongside my studies. After our boss Dawid brought me on board, he sent me directly to you without any detours. I was to reach out to you for the correction of my first text and show me the job.
During our first encounter, I cheekily threw at your feet that you had to teach me everything you knew because that was the boss’s instruction. You were amused about that for years afterwards.
But that’s exactly what you did. You showed and taught me everything you knew about writing, storytelling, journalism, and video games. You knew so damn much.
Whether it was about how to spark curiosity with a headline, how to find a strong entry into a text or why one should simply leave out clichéd phrases. In the early days, you went through each of my texts with me sentence by sentence and were a strict teacher. Sometimes I cursed your harsh words, but only for the moment. Because in the end, it made my work better and changed my perspective on the job that I originally started just alongside my studies.
With your constant ambition to create the best possible website for video games, you inspired and captivated me. It didn’t take long until I pursued that dream myself.
Things progressed to the point that a few years later, I became the editor-in-chief and led the editorial team and MeinMMO together with you. You were always fully engaged with the day-to-day happenings, close to the people, the articles, and the community. I, from the background, had the overview and a little distance. Meanwhile, you were always my direct link to the editorial team.
When I had spent a few hours in meetings, I usually received several messages from you about what was happening in the editorial team, what annoyed or pleased you. Often, I had a reprimand from you waiting if you disagreed entirely with one of my decisions. You could always pinpoint exactly where it hurt, and that was good. Because that way, we could always continue to improve and develop.
Little by little over the years, we became more and more of a unity that puzzled over MeinMMO together. We advised each other on which topics we should report, which upcoming games would be important to us, how we could develop certain team members in which way. And eventually, we also started talking about this and that that had nothing to do with work. Almost every day, we exchanged at least a few words, even if it was just sending each other a couple of silly videos to make the other laugh.
The fact that none of this works anymore is such a profound cut. It feels like I’ve lost a part of myself – both professionally and personally.
What you meant for MeinMMO
There are reasons why I heard so often after your death that you were the heart of the editorial team. You were already with MeinMMO long before me.
You helped build the website 11 years ago and were the first full-time editor with a permanent employment contract that our founder Dawid hired back then. Many came since then – and some also left again. But you stayed.
You often told me about the time of building it and how you were initially skeptical about whether it would all work out. The competition and the offerings from other gaming websites were great, many of them had been established for years. To assert oneself as a newcomer in between required ambition, cleverness, diligence, and passion – qualities that you brought to work every day until the end and also expected and fostered from others.
You told me that you wanted to be a journalist all your life. You recognized a chance here to fulfill your wish and did everything to ensure that it would ultimately work out. And it did.
There are things that are obvious on the outside.
You gave MeinMMO amazing texts, more than 14,000 to be exact. It always seemed like the good topics, the words, and the ideas just flew to you. But that’s exactly how you recognize the best. Time and again, I was amazed at where you unearthed the curious and exciting stories and how you recognized them. You drew your inspiration from the real lives of gamers – from their forums, comments, concerns, joys, and stories. That made you a special journalist because you were always close to the people – and the mere facts-news rather bored you.
More than 5,000 comments made by you underline this. You always engaged with our community and consistently responded to criticism and feedback. Many times, you also stood up for our authors when their texts were criticized.
The numbers, data, and facts also show us that your texts alone reached more than half a million people every month. You worked hard for that. From a small fan blog about MMORPGs to a professional gaming editorial team that is recognized in the scene. You were the first employee and paved the way for almost 30 more who are now full-time staff and freelancers with us.
And then there are the things that are not obvious on the outside.
What you meant to the editorial team as a person
When I delivered the heavy message of your death to the team, it was completely silent and time stood still again for a moment. In the silence, I saw grief, disbelief, shock, pain, and tears.
Because you were so much more than the editorial lead who managed the daily business and the content planning of the site. When I said you were my link to the editorial team, I meant every single person in the team. I know few people who possessed as much empathy as you did. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have been so good at reaching so many people with your texts.
You immediately sensed when someone in the team was feeling bad, and we both might have to look the other way when the last text of the day wasn’t finished. If you suspected that something was wrong with someone, you immediately told me about it and we would discuss what we could do to help. And so, you conducted many personal conversations with each individual in the team.
Every morning, you opened the day with an analysis of the previous day and our content. You always had a silly joke ready. That often led us all to roll our eyes (which delighted you) but also made us laugh simultaneously.
You said outright when you didn’t like something in our content, and you slammed your hand down forcefully. That way, you often metaphorically shook the editorial team to shape the best possible MeinMMO every day. But you never did that without helping every individual improve their work. Simply complaining without rolling up your sleeves was never your way.
What you often found hard to express in person landed with me. You proudly told me whenever someone published a particularly good text or had a clever idea to help the editorial team. I can’t count how many times in the last two years you told me how great the team has developed. In doing so, you named each person in the editorial team and emphasized what each contributed individually.
Unconsciously, you prepared everything for this moment when we can no longer access your expertise and knowledge. That’s what made you a great mentor and boss.
What remains of you
As sad as the last weeks without you were, there was also so much warmth in them. Because if I can say one thing with certainty now: You’re not truly gone and will never be.
We can still read your texts, countless comments, and the chats with you. But that’s not even the most important thing.
In the past weeks, I’ve realized what you truly left behind as a legacy and how valuable it is. I notice it in how our editorial team has come together even closer, and we all continue to live out your dream.
Your ambition and your passion to bring out the best in us and our editorial team every single day are already being passed on by your junior editors. Just like the knowledge you gifted us.
I for my part will still often hear your voice. Especially when I want to take radical measures too quickly again. You could be explosive in the foreground; I was often it secretly in the background – only visible to you. Your admonishing words in my ear: Do you really want to press the nuclear button right away, or should we first try another way? This admonition will accompany me far beyond MeinMMO in my life.
I wish you could have read the farewell words that so many people left for you on the following page. But I am sure you knew what you meant to us. Our bond needed no words; it could be felt.
In conclusion, there is only one thing left to say:
Thank you, Schuhmann. For everything.
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