Freshman year we had the world’s best college chef. This guy was great and he took a liking to some of us – me, Marty and a senior named Speedo. The chef even got some really nice London broil that he let us cook on a grill. The dinners during freshman year were really good for the most part. During the summer the chef was fired – something about kick-backs from the various suppliers.
Speedo also introduced us to Korean food. Marty and I really liked the Kim-Chi. We liked it so much that we tried to make some. It’s a good thing that we were not as bad at chemistry as we were at making Kim-Chi because that stuff we made was horrible!
We generally ate at the same table in the cafeteria and had stimulating conversation such as:
Dean: “Marty you can’t leave all that food on your plate, don’t you know there are people starving in Ethiopia.”
Marty: “Name two.”
Marty, Pat and I shared a room (a really rather small one) sophomore year at Webb. This arrangement of a triple in a room barely big enough to suit two came about because my freshman roommate, Paul, well… to say he snored a bit would be a vast understatement and I wasn’t going to survive another year with Paul. Marty and Pat took pity on me and we pulled off a triple in a real small room; Paul got a single – for the next three years!
The arrangements in the triple were a little complicated. Marty had the lower bunk, Pat and all of his worldly possessions took the upper bunk and I slept on a convertible couch that I used as a bed at night and we all used as a couch during the day. If you ever visit Webb, the room is on the third deck, courtyard side, near the freshman classroom which used to be on the western side of the building.
It was a strange year because the NY State drinking age was 19 but in November of 1985 it went to 21. We had an incredible collection of beer cans along one wall of that room!
For sophomore year, most of our homework was done in the classroom so the lack of desks in the triple did not matter. I think Marty had a desk in the room; Pat and I worked in the classroom.
We had class and homework to keep us busy and when we got bored, Pat always provided endless hours of entertainment. I think this is when we really expanded the possibilities with his stress-induced narcolepsy. I don’t know if Pat ever got a formal narcolepsy diagnosis – but we budding young naval architects immediately identified it for him. Whenever he was really stressed, he would close his eyes and go to sleep. And once asleep, he was almost impossible to wake up. Marty and I would take the sleeping Pat with us on various outings. Ultimately, the whole class got involved. We moved him around the school – library, reading room, classrooms. The sleeping Pat made it into the Binnacle on our class page – look close at the picture on page 24 of the 1988 Binnacle and you will see a sleeping Pat propped up against the wall. We then got more adventurous – sleeping Pat in the Girl’s Dorm, sleeping Pat in restaurants. Now all this would have gotten boring except we found out the one way to wake Pat up – water. A little splash of water and he would pop awake. Sometimes he would pop awake when he was miles from where he went to sleep. Then we started working on convincing him that we took him even farther than we had, like across state lines. He usually would wake up enough to realize he was in a local restaurant and we would buy him dinner as a reward for the entertainment value. It was all in good fun.
Other good fun that Marty and I had at Pat’s expense was painting his finger and toe nails while he was asleep. We usually used magic marker or highlighter or something else at hand. Sometimes we would draw in facial hair. I think Pat enjoyed the attention a little bit and we never did anything all that bad – juvenile maybe, but not bad.
Poor Pat was not the only victim of our pranks. You have to understand that early in our class history there was the great schism – a large part of the class was identified as “smurfs” and other than being blue, they had all the qualities of smurfs – bright, cheery individuals who probably wanted nothing better than to conform to the current trend in clothes, accessories and hairstyles. The other part of the class was named freshman year during a study of the French Revolution – the Bohemians – dirt bags who did not wear shoes, were not morning people and generally did not want to be bothered. Marty was a Bohemian, along with me and Dave, Manny and the occasional Mike and any smurf who just needed a break. Well, if a papa smurf could be identified it was Stevo who was a particularly cheery morning person, always meticulously groomed and with the latest fashions. The sophomore classrooms had a desk in it with a single drawer that we sat at all day long. Stevo had all his class materials neatly arranged in the drawer and for three months we watched a bright, cheery Stevo walk in every morning, open the drawer, pull out a pad of paper, COLORED pencils, an eraser and a ruler and sit quietly anticipating the start of class.
This was too ripe a target for us. Dave and I don’t recall who had the idea, but I think it took a while to materialize. We needed a cold night. A real cold night, like near freezing. Come November it finally got cold, and I think Marty drove us to the store for supplies: it was probably 8 or 10 packages of Jello, some duct tape and some Saranwrap. Now while this may sound like a fun night on the town, you have to remember it was harmless fun.
We took Stevo’s desk drawer and removed it from the desk. We spirited it down to the kitchen and carefully removed all the items in such a way that we could put it back into the drawer exactly in its proper and assigned location. Next we carefully lined the drawer with the Saranwrap and the duct tape to make sure it would not leak. We got some hot water and started to prepare the Jello. We were in the main kitchen which in those days was always accessible to the students.
You may recall that Webb had its student honor code. Well along with the honor code there was a student council, complete with a “sheriff” of sorts – the honor council chairman. This particular year, the honor council chairman was Joel. Now Joel was a sort of scary individual. You have to realize that his friends and classmates had nominated and he subsequently won the post of honor council chairman. I recall rumors that Joel had been in the Army – like Special Forces of something like that. Anyway, Joel was not someone you wanted to fool around with on any occasion.
So there we were, mixing Jello in a carefully protected Webb-Institute-official-school drawer in the official Webb-Institute-professionally staffed kitchen, snickering to ourselves and gently stirring the Jello while Dave was rounding up a serving cart to transport this mess on, when we detected, shall we say, a presence. We were standing shoulder to shoulder, Marty stirring with his right hand and I with my left when turned toward each other and Joel coalesced out of the darkness between us. We both gasped and held our breath; there was no sound but the stirring of two spoons still stirring the Jello. “Needs fruit” was Joel’s only comment as he carefully examined our handiwork and then departed. Well, we had no choice but to rustle up some bananas, oranges and the like, slice them up and insert them into the Jello-drawer. We also added the various supplies but rather than randomly placing them like the fruit, everything went back into the Jello-drawer in its proper place.
Dave showed up with the cart and it was a good thing. We were learning about a thing called “free surface” and I don’t mind telling you that a 30” long by 24” wide drawer with 3” of non-gelatinous Jello in it is quite a study in free surface. We carefully ushered the drawer outside to allow it to do its Jello-magic.
I think we probably went off to do some homework and maybe have a cheap and frosty beverage before returning the drawer to its place. After all, how long could it take for Jello to do its thing, right?
The sun was inching its smiling face over the horizon when the stupid Jello final got firm enough to move. We slid it into its place and Marty and I staggered off to get a couple hours sleep. Dave decided to just stay up and read Kerouac or maybe it was Nietzche, I forget now.
Meanwhile, elsewhere on campus, things were not going well for the well groomed and pleasant smelling Stevo. Apparently, his girlfriend had some aversion to cold weather relationships and unbeknownst to us had broken up with him the night prior. This unfortunate event had several knock-on effects, one of which was that his homework had not been done. So Stevo was in recovery mode and decided to get up early to color code his notes from class. And this required the pencils from the now infamous Jello-drawer.
So we have a somewhat groggy Stevo who was nonetheless cleanly dressed and impeccably coifed entering a classroom in which a dirty, smelly and still-in-the-clothes-from-the-day-before Dave is reading Machiavelli in the back of the classroom with a pair of the darkest 99 cent sunglasses you have ever seen shading his tired eyes from the now bright morning sun.
Stevo never ventured to try and get the pencils out of the drawer. He never closed the drawer. He pouted in frustration and left the classroom slamming the door behind him. However, after realizing that Dave was in fact in the classroom and looked comfortable enough to have been there for a while, he decided to return with the curt query “Who did it?” To which Dave slowly slid the sunglasses down from his somewhat bloodshot eyes and peering over the glasses straight into Stevo’s clear and shining eyes he provided the reply, “Dean and Marty and me.” He then slid the glasses back up and went back to his book.
We don’t know what Stevo did in the intervening hours between then and class. He disappeared for a little while. The Jello-drawer was famous by the time class started. It was a Professor Ward class; he had been teaching at Webb for quite a while and probably did not even notice the drawer.
Stevo was almost late when he showed up for class. He may as well have been because with his morning routine so disrupted, all he could do was sit at his desk with his arms spread and sigh and pout heavily. Then, from the back row, someone handed him a spoon at which point he smiled and started laughing just a little bit. Professor Ward asked the responsible parties to please clean up so we could carry on with class. So the three of us got the drawer and you know, Jello cleans up real easy when you hit it with hot water. In five minutes, the drawer was restored, we had replaced the items in it and class went on as usual. I have no idea what the lecture was.
We terrorized other folks in the class too as you will see, but at the end of sophomore year we had the worst fright of the four year ordeal.
It was the end of the second semester sophomore year (almost our last math class) and Professor Stephen, or “Brucie” as he was affectionately called had been on an absolute rampage for the last dozen days of class. He had been collecting homework like there was no tomorrow. Not just the previous night’s homework either, he was collecting old stuff, too.
The Professors did have some sense of humanity for us students and in general they understood that if you had a big project due, you might not get to all the homework assigned and you might just choose to skip an assignment for a day or two. The humane act of the Professors was that some did not necessarily collect homework on every day. Brucie was typically one of these. I think his main motivation was that he did not want to have to correct papers every day, but who knows? Anyway, Brucie roulette was a favorite gamble when the workload got heavy. After all, he was not collecting so why bother doing it?
Unfortunately, if you were out of luck you couldn’t play Brucie roulette. It just so happened that I was nearly out of luck second semester sophomore year – I had been failing two classes at mid-semester and was placed on academic probation. Part of this was that I had to turn in all my Brucie homework which meant I had to have it done.
So here we have Brucie on his homework-collecting-rant and the only people that had done the homework were those that were failing. We never saw Brucie’s evil plan coming. We thought he was just messing with those of us who were foundering. Little did we know the extent of his deviousness.
There is a tradition at Webb; it is that there is no curve and on the first day of class the weighting for all course work and grading is provided to everyone. Thus, you always know where you stand in your grades if you are paying attention; those passing all their courses were not paying attention.
There is also the tradition that if you are doing well in a course you may be exempt from the final; the criterion for exemption is also dictated on the first day of class. Exemption was not something that I typically had to worry about, but Marty and several others partook of exemptions from numerous finals. Brucie made sure that his course would not be one of them second semester sophomore year. By collecting a lot of homework assignments that various people had not completed he was casting a wide net and he caught those people typically exempt from finals by driving down their homework grade below that magic number.
I had never seen Marty so upset about school. He was on a mission. Now a lot of people got caught in Brucie’s devious little plan, but Marty took it personally. And he chose to fight back the way he knew how – he studied and studied and studied. He spent all the time he had for his other exemptions studying for the Brucie math final. He was relentless and driven. He had a goal – he wanted to prove a point and he was not going to settle for anything less than a perfect score. He did not study angrily; his anger was gone. It was replaced by focus, and cool-headedness and that eerie Marty-calmness. He studied math long after I had studied for all those other finals I had to take. He studied and studied. And he fought back the best way he could – with a perfect 100% correct on that final.
Even his success was not without trauma. Pat had gone off and done some early morning studying and Marty and I slept through our alarm back in the triple. When our absence from class was noted, dear Professor Stephen himself came and wrapped on the door to the room. What an absolute nightmare that was. Waking up on the day of a final to the nasal New Yorker whine of a dreaded professor telling you to “take your time” and “there’s no rush” as if implying that hurrying isn’t going to help us anyway. It still sends shivers down my spine. Marty and I jumped up and rushed into the class – he got his perfect score and I passed the course.
Junior year came and Pat moved on to another triple with Ian and Ray. Marty and I took a tower room – second deck, soundside, west end of the building towards the balcony. We really liked this room and we kept it for the next two years. The beds were up over the green-uglies (those metal wardrobes we used to have) and a desk was under each bed. The couch was retired to just be a couch, 24-7. We had a coffee table and we installed this huge light fixture over the door facing up at the ceiling. It wasn’t a bad room.
I had learned a thing or two from Marty and I forsook studying in the classroom unless it was necessary for a project. I started using that desk in the room. Our study habits became similar, and I can only hope that while I was picking up Marty’s good habits, he wasn’t picking up any of my bad habits. I don’t think he was, because it was while in the tower room that Marty moved into his position of first in the class. I was steadily improving, but Marty was moving off the charts.
Our studying was good and it was close quarters but we always worked things out separately and discussed problems we were having. I think I may have even helped Marty out on a couple of assignments! We were proud that the Professors were recognizing that the Bohemians were trying to work things out individually despite to cooperative efforts of the smurfs. I will always remember Professor Al Rowen chiding the class for wholly working through a particular problem incorrectly – clearly an indication of an educator’s failure to get his point across in my opinion. But our-pal-Al went on to say that he thought it was interesting that 15 of the class had the same exact wrong answer. Yeah, we had the wrong answer also, but at least it was a different wrong answer from the smurfs and from our other classmates.
I don’t mean to say that Marty was prudish with his intelligence. Quite the contrary, I think he would help anyone out who asked for it but you had to be willing to do the work under Marty’s tutelage; he was not going to give it to you.
Junior year also had the start of a new tradition – Floyd parties. That big light fixture over the door was filled with two red/pink lights and a black light. After working long and hard hours, sometimes we would just throw an impromptu, low key party in the room. We would turn on the lights, put on some Pink Floyd and just hang out for a while. It wasn’t anything wild or crazy; it was just a few moments of camaraderie at the end of some real long days.
Pink Floyd and Roger Waters also played another important role for us. I think Marty and I trained ourselves to go to sleep to the album “The Pros and Cons of Hitch-hiking.” Initially I think we used “Dark side of the Moon” but there are all those alarm clocks at the start of “Time” so we abandoned that album. We had real similar sleep and work habits by this time and when it was time for bed I would pop in a cassette with Pros and Cons on it and we would listen to that until blissful unconsciousness took us off to dreamland. After a while, we just needed to pop that tape in and we’d be asleep in no time. It was a useful thing to have. I still have the cassette.
Marty liked Pink Floyd. I am sure he liked other bands too, but Pink Floyd had some intellectual stimulation for him – I guess he had studied the music in high school or something. He knew an awful lot about the songs and the band. I can remember listening to one song called “One of these days” over and over again. It is largely an instrumental piece but there is a synthesized voice in the middle of it that says something. Back before the internet you had to listen to music rather than just google it to find out the words. It wasn’t until I got the CD a few years after graduation that I was finally able to make out the words in that song. I called Marty that night – “hey yeah,” he said, “I got it last year; those are the words.” I have since learned that the song was directed at a radio host that had given the band a horrible review.
Marty enjoyed road trips. In fact, at one point I recall that he proclaimed himself the lord of I-95. Now, due to the winter work period at Webb, our spring break happened when every other university in America was a few weeks from finals in their peak party period. As a result the “Points West Tour” came into being. The Points West Tour was a road trip that took us from our humble mansion in Glen Cove down I-80 into the western part of Pennsylvania. Dave, being from that part of the planet, had friends attending such big name schools as Indiana University of Pennsylvania or IUP as it is lovingly known, Penn State and the venerable Slippery Rock University. Of course, the Slippery Rock connection was a family one – Doc Rusnak was a professor there and heavily involved in the local volunteer fire department, but still it was a mandatory stop on the tour.
The Points West Tour was a very condensed little road trip. It took place over a weekend. We would come blazing into town on a Friday, drink as much beer as we could, pass out, wake up and move on to the next campus, blaze into town, drink as much beer as we could, pass out – you get the idea. One particular tour was Dave, Marty and me. We took Dave’s Subaru station wagon which probably only had something like 180,000 miles on it at this point. Our first stop was Penn State to visit Dave’s friend Gary who was a forestry major and as near as we could tell spent most of his quality study time by camping in the woods. Next thing we knew the keg was floating and of course, one of us happened to be trying to get a beer at the time. A new keg was brought in and a short time later, when one of us was trying to get a beer that keg was floating. Maybe it’s the Archimedes curse or something, but people began noticing that whenever a keg went dry one of the three of us was near it. They happily waved good-bye to us the next morning.
We invaded IUP next. Our visit to IUP was tenuous at best. Now, for me, personally, I have made sure that whenever I break up with an old girlfriend, I do it right. Although it could be a little hard on the breakables in the area, I don’t have to worry about complications later on. Dave did not have this policy and little did we know that there was some complication with our visit to IUP. Not with Dave’s friend, mind you, more with her current beaux. The current beaux was quite something really. I think he was the sitting president of the International Brotherhood of Steroid using Body Builders of SPIBSUBB. His cabinet, about 10 gorillas in some sort of body building Frat house attire were also at the party. Of course, Dave’s friend being a college co-ed had also invited similarly minded other college co-eds who were looking to be seen with the membership of IBSUBB. Into this environment entered three unsuspecting members of the Webb Institute Massive Party Sailors (WIMPS) who could be easily identified by the cheap dark sunglasses (to protect their eyes from the sun which they hadn’t seen in three months), pale skin and severely under-developed physiques. Unfortunately, a lot of the girls were really happy to see us – not so for the rank and file of IBSUBB.
Marty and I got introduced to this drinking game called “Questions.” The premise of the game is simple: everyone gets a cup of beer; you then can only ask questions. If you make the mistake of answering the question then you have to drink. I was out in like 10 minutes. I had to because I was really bad at this game. Marty was REALLY good at this game. His focus was incredible and he had these drop dead questions that just blew people away. There was also this girl there who was doing a pretty good job keeping up with Marty. The two of them teamed up on SPIBSUBB. It was incredible to watch – Marty would hit him with “Do you do steroids?” and SPIBSUBB would drink then the cute co-ed would hit him with “Do you masturbate?” and SPIBSUBB would drink. It was better than the Cosby Show!
The night wore on. I took someone to get some cigarettes and then dropped them off home when I realized I had no idea where I was. Dave was talking to his old friend and apparently Marty was left with the entire IBSUBB entourage; apparently it got ugly. The next morning, after I found my way back to the apartment and actually got let in and found a place to crash, Marty showed me this rather large whole in the wall and told me that his head had been where the hole was only seconds before. Apparently, IBSUBB didn’t appreciate us being near yet another floating keg. Marty thought it was really funny. But that was Marty – calm, cool and not hesitating to roll out of way to avoid a gorilla on a bender!
Hey let’s go help mom move, again…
I have lost count how many times Marty, Dave and I helped my mother move while we were at Webb. For a while it seemed like every time I went home they came with me and we were packing her up to put her in a different place. My mother considered Marty to be one of her kids; a kid with a really smart mouth, but one she loves nonetheless.
I remember one time when my mother dropped me off at Webb. She had her high school friend, Carol, with her to keep her company on the return trip to Connecticut. Now, Mom and Marty had a unique relationship – they were constantly sparring with words. My mom was a high school teacher at the time and pretty tolerant of smart mouthed people; I think she enjoyed the playful taunting. On this particular day in the common room at Webb, Mom and Carol ran into Marty and he said something to the effect of “I am not having a battle of wits with an unarmed person today.” Well, Mom didn’t reply; instead she turned to Carol and said “Don’t you think he looks like Barry Manilow?” And Carol shook her head vigorously in agreement. It was the only time I have ever seen Marty speechless. Then just to rub his nose in it Mom pinched Marty’s cheek and said “Don’t worry sweetie, we think Barry Manilow is very handsome.” I have never seen anyone turn so red with embarrassment!
It speaks well of Marty and the impression that he left with people – Carol learned of Marty’s untimely death and although she had only met him three times or so, she instantly remembered him and sends her condolences.
After Webb, yes, I did graduate in the end; there are pictures to prove it, we were all invited up to Boston for Ian’s wedding. I think Christine and I met him at Mom’s house in Connecticut. Mom and her boyfriend, Paul, had this Ford Astro minivan with these captain’s chairs in it. You could take the passenger seats and spin them around to turn the back of the van into a living room. Mom also had a case of wine that we proceeded to sample while Paul drove us to Boston. It was a nice wedding, I think. The snow started falling while we were in Boston. Mom and Paul drove us back to Connecticut after the wedding and we finished sampling the wine. A bunch of the class of ’88 followed us back to New Britain and we had an impromptu party at Mom’s house and everyone stayed the night to avoid the storm.
Show me the gun
Marty told us the story about how he got robbed when he lived in Brooklyn. He was approached by someone who said, “Give me your wallet, I have a gun.” Marty replied, “Show me the gun.” To which the assailant pulled the gun and pointed it at Marty’s face and Marty replied, “Deal’s a deal” and handed over his wallet; I think he also lost a ring and a watch in that little exchange.
It’s good thing I don’t have a gun…
While Marty was living in Brooklyn I was speaking on the phone with him one night. He liked his apartment there because he could park the Honda Prelude beneath a streetlight that he could see from the kitchen window. While we were on the phone Marty started yelling. Apparently, a kid was winding up with a brick to through it through the car window and Marty was yelling at him from the kitchen window. The kid threw the brick through the window and ran. I asked Marty, “Why don’t you get a gun?” He replied, “No, if I had a gun, the kid would be dead and I would be in jail.” And you know, I think he was right.
The engineer and the assassin…
I remember that Marty had to have a battery of psychological personality tests for one of his jobs. Do you remember the results? The test result said Marty should be an engineer or an assassin because he was cool and calculating.
I talked to Marty on the occasion of trying to decide whether to leave my US Navy job after 11 years. I had stayed on for 2 or 3 years too long and a great opportunity had presented itself. I think Marty was on his second or third job by this time – he was changing jobs about every 5 years. We talked for a while and Marty said, “You know my opinion; there’s no reason why you shouldn’t change a job when you are ready; move on already.” There he was again, calm, cool and just calling it liked he saw it. I changed jobs and Marty was right – life is too short to be unsatisfied for 40 hours per week, 2000 hours a year.
Remember Marty’s apartment in Philly. I think it was a loft in an old factory. It was the coolest apartment I have ever seen. Remember “Blanket Man?” He was Marty’s homeless neighbor that we would see whenever we visited. Having been homeless in Philly I kind of felt a connection with Blanket Man.
Life’s little instruction book…
Marty got a little book called “Life’s little instruction book.” Leave it to Marty to go off and read the instructions! It had some sage advice in it; “Never buy a boat” was something that Marty passed on to me. Once again, I didn’t follow the instructions – we generally have about 100 feet of boats hanging around. At least Marty joined the club where he could use a boat.
Homeward bound 94
One of the boats that Christine and I owned was a 1974, 28’ Morgan Out Island that I lived on while I was working in New Orleans. The job had not gone as expected and I ended up spending weeks at a time in New Orleans living in a hotel room. Christine and I decided to buy a boat to be my residence in New Orleans and then sail it home when the job was done. The plan was called “Homeward bound 94.” Dave actually found the boat that we bought. It was a tub but it was a comfortable tub that was very forgiving. All kinds of people were interested in being crew for us on the trip home. In the end, Marty, Dave, Rick and our friend George were the only ones that came through. Marty and Rick came through in a big way; Marty joined us in Pensacola and Rick came on board in Panama City. The sailing instructions were simple, wait for a cold front to blow through and once the rain settles down, jump on the tail end of it and enjoy the sleigh ride down wind to Clearwater. A friend told me not to worry, the wind never blows southeast in the spring.
We had a great sail from Pensacola to Destin. The wind was a little contrary sailing from Destin to Panama City. We were anticipating a daylight arrival (one of our few) but unfortunately had to stand by while the Coast Guard attempted to rescue a boat that was in distress. We had been sailing along in rather lively conditions when a couple of guys in a small outboard powered boat flagged us down. It was all hands on deck while we got the sails down, started the engine and tried to help out but all we could do was stand by while the Coast Guard did its thing. The outboard boat was on the beach by the time the Coast Guard showed up. The night approach into the marina in Panama City was without incident.
Rick joined us in Panama City and we waited for a day while the weather did its thing. We jumped offshore on the tail end of the front and had an absolute blast sailing along the coast and out passed Apalachicola. We were visited by aliens that night – actually it was dolphins totally engulfed in phosphorescence. They played with us for well over an hour. The night was clear and we had some awesome stars to steer by.
The morning brought a wind shift to the southeast! This set up 6-8’ square waves in the middle of the Gulf; what a ride it was. We sailed up and fell off the backs of the waves that came in sets of three. In between were these 3-4’ waves that matched our waterline length and nearly brought us to a complete stop. The second 100 nautical miles took a while to complete. I missed the Casino/Dinner boat that tried to run us over – I was off watch. I brought us into Clearwater on GPS and we tied up and went to sleep. We were up early – we were at the wrong marina! We had to move over to the municipal marina and by now that mean old southeast wind was really cranking. We got it all sorted out and crawled into a tiki bar for some well deserved refreshment. Marty and Rick hung out in Clearwater with us for a couple of days while we recovered from the offshore experience. Marty and Rick left us in Clearwater and we continued our cruise home.
Fair winds and following seas…
After eleven years with the Navy, ten of those with Naval Special Warfare, I noticed some poignant items on the bulletin board. One item I remember is this: a good friend will bail you out of jail; a really good friend will be sitting there with you saying “boy we really screwed up this time!” Marty was a really good friend and he will be missed. Close