I expect that name means nothing to you.
He was a Jew in an industry I covered for 12 years. He was a pioneer in that industry. During the 1960s, he was shooting loops for display on 42nd Street in Manhattan.
Then he hung up his directing spurs and became a salesman at VCA for almost 30 years.
I’ve known Marty since about 1998. He always liked me. In an industry that hated me, he always liked me. He thought I was undercover law enforcement but he liked me anyway. "I can’t help, I just like the kid," he’d say.
For all I know, he may well have saved my life. Many plans were cooked up to get rid of me and he always stuck up for me. He didn’t just like me quietly, he told everyone he liked me, even though that wasn’t cool.
Whenever I ran into Marty, he had the biggest smile.
There aren’t many people I run into who are always glad to see me.
Marty died Monday. He’s been sick for about five years. His funeral is Thursday, March 5, in Azusa. It’s 35 miles away. I think I’m going to skip Alexander Technique class and make that long drive to see a group of people I haven’t seen in 18 months.
Marty’s having a Jewish funeral presided over by a friend of mine.
