The Story of Marty Simon
Martin Simon passed from this earth on August 29, 2021 from complications of ALS. On his terms, for all that knew him, of course. In the previous three weeks, family had been told he may not survive the ambulance ride to hospital; he did. Then, he may not make it out of ICU; he did. Then, time to go to Hospice House, to finish his final hours. Or not. On the way home from Hospice House, the ambulance driver had to note, well, this isn’t a trip we’ve made often. After 10 more days at home, with family, friends, music, and walk-and-rolls around his beloved property, Marty peacefully passed with his wife and family present, crossing home at the age of 77, or in his words, Mickey Mantle-Mickey Mantle, 7-7.
Martin started the ride of his life on November 8, 1943 in Philadelphia. The son of Theresa “Babe” Kohn and George Simon, and new little brother for adoring big sister, five-year old Hope. Nearly eighty years later, the only argument Hope and Marty could ever remember having was over who was better--Stevie Wonder or Ray Charles. At the age of 3 and height of World War II, Marty, like thousands of other children, contracted polio, just a few years before a vaccine was available. His father died suddenly the same year.
As was standard practice, Marty was moved to a polio treatment facility where he lived for the next three years. These tender years were spent at The Home of the Merciful Savior in Philadelphia, where, even then, his capacity to experience and share joy for the sake of joy was apparent. He made friendships there, at the age of 3, that he kept for his entire life. These friends tell of little Marty smearing his bread with butter, folding it in half, opening it back up and “reading” them long happy silly stories.
Marty moved back home with family and attended Widener Memorial School for the handicapped through his elementary and middle school years. The antics continued, naturally, but in this special place Marty developed what became a deep lifelong empathy for others, especially those with physical and mental challenges. Even in his later years, Marty would be moved to tears by the simple struggles of others, though never once do any of us remember him complaining or crying on his own behalf. With only his legs affected by polio, Marty often said, in the company of others at Widener he felt so lucky, like Superman. This sense of good fortune and gratitude carried through all of his life. To others, his exuberant gratefulness and joy could give a powerful jolt, emanating from a body so clearly challenged yet smiling merrily.
Marty returned to Widener, invited as keynote speaker, on the school’s 100th anniversary. He spoke from the stage, a seasoned highly successful professional, yet still completely sympathetic to the ingrained struggles of others to strive within bodies that made it not easy. In the audience, his wife wore the silver pin he had made for his mother, many years ago, as a young man in a Widener metalworking class designed for the handicapped, where he was already grateful for his able hands and bright mind.
Marty entered public school for the first time attending Germantown High, where he made friends he kept forever, and became an unlikely swimming star, receiving an award from Grace Kelly’s brother for endurance swimming, without the use of his legs. Even as he endured multiple orthopedic surgeries so that his legs, with the use of a brace, could carry him, Marty’s spirit never flagged. His sister remembers him, in a body cast on the front porch of a beach house, asking her to keep his bed turned so that his face would tan evenly, and of course listening to rock n roll. He already knew what was “him” and would stay “him” till the end: Suntan and hair. Music music music. Cars. Jeans and black tee shirts. Friends. Mickey Mantle.
Marty’s love affair with Mickey Mantle began early and never ended. Maybe Mickey was the father he had lost. Maybe it was Mickey’s power and speed, on badly injured legs. Or the way Mickey’s teammates loved him. Whatever it was, Marty’s love for Mickey was complete. When Mickey was inducted into the Hall of Fame, Marty went to the local small town newspaper and offered to cover the event for them. He drove the family station wagon to Cooperstown and slept overnight in the car. The next morning he showed up, flashing his fresh newspaper credentials. He got laughed off—all press passes had been allocated to the major outlets years ago. Yet Marty somehow convinced them to let him take a spare pass that had not been picked up. So there he sat in the press area for Mickey’s induction, side by side with AP and the major TV networks, covering the event for the Ambler Gazette.
Marty did have another love, though it began later in life: John Fogerty of Creedence Clearwater Revival. Marty played and sang every song, went to countless concerts, watched videos and semi-stalked him, writing an exceedingly long fan letter just before John disappeared from public eye (we think a coincidence) and waiting in a dark alley to meet him after a concert (crutches wide to block his easy pass) and then getting a prized photo of John with his arm over Marty’s shoulder. Marty carried this photo in his wallet in a little plastic frame that said “Best Friends Forever.” Years later a friend arranged for Marty to meet John. It was a beautiful conversation, deep and really nice, then Marty pulled out the tattered picture, still in the frame to show John, and John loved it.
Marty went to Penn State main campus, where again he made friends that lasted a lifetime, and majored in Journalism. By now already a gifted and creative writer, who loved words and language, this was a natural progression for him. His language interests didn’t stop with English and grammar. He made up words, whole vocabularies and sentences that others took up too. He called pillows tippitapitapees and toes were diddums. Toe nails were diddum spears. No why. Just how it was. He spoke and spelled words backwards for fun (like, strops detartsulli and oopmahs), they just rolled off his tongue. The words may be English, or French or Hebrew, or one of his made up words. And he was so clever. When he cleaned the kitchen, he was being counter productive. A stack of firewood was woodstock. As he graduated from Penn State, he found out he had taken so many French courses he had minored in French without knowing it. He was fluent in “op” (adding a syllable, so “hello” becomes hop-e-lop-lop-o), French, English and his own made-up languages, both forwards and backwards. Oh, if he were here to write this obit now.
It didn’t take long for Marty to turn his way with words into a budding career, working his way up quickly at the Linholdt and Jones advertising agency in Jenkintown, PA, as a creative star. Hard working and well liked, again he made friends that lasted a lifetime. It was around this time too that Marty first began learning guitar when a friend taught him the opening riff of the Beatles’ I Feel Fine.
Martin was also starting a family. He married his college sweetheart, Deena Laver, after graduation. They traveled across the US, around Europe and to Alaska for five years before settling down and having three daughters, Rebecca, Gabrielle, and Stephanie. The family attended Temple Sinai synagogue in Dresher, PA. For a time, the family car was a 1967 Corvette convertible, everyone piling in. Classmates still remember the outrageous sight of girls being dropped off and picked up at school. Martin embraced fatherhood with a joy that knew no bounds. Endless photos, camping, vacations, music. Swimming at the YMCA. The girls singing Proud Mary at their elementary school talent show while he played guitar (such a classic that 30 years later he did it again with granddaughter Juliet). Road trips in the family station wagon. Pictures in the bath, pictures in the snow, pictures in front of the Azaleas, pictures in front of every “Welcome to” a new state sign! The fight over him taking too many pictures in The Badlands on their family vacation cross-country! Blueberries up the nose, chocolate pudding on the teeth, and hands in the ice water on annual camping trips with friends and family! For many years Martin and the girls were in the Indian Princesses program for fathers and daughters. These camping trips were the stuff of legends—sledding, pranks, theme songs (written by Martin, of course), and friendships, yes, that lasted a lifetime.
Marty loved all the kids in his life, and they knew it. Grandchildren, nephews and nieces were all so dear to him. They all variously carry his good nature, curls, smile, broad shoulders, love for the outdoors, gifts with music and words. The older ones speak his special languages. The kid next door, thirty years ago, is still a close friend. Marty would become a Big Brother in the Big Brother Big Sisters program for another young man, then a friend for life.
In his early 40s, Marty took the leap and began his own agency, in his basement. The Simon Group flourished and soon he and his partner moved to office space in Springhouse, adding employees and bringing on new clients.
After a few years, Marty decided to buy a farmhouse for the business in the countryside of upper Bucks County, Pennsylvania. When people said that was a crazy thing to do for a business-to-business agency with high-tech clients, Marty just laughed and assured them that with the “three Fs” it would be fine—phone, fax and Fedex. And it was.
The farmhouse became home-base for a company and culture like no other. With the company tagline “Business as Unusual,” The Simon Group became known for zany antics, Friday afternoon zima parties, a happy fun-loving culture that worked hard, taking great care of clients and business partners, and a powerhouse award-winning creative team backed by rock solid strategies and execution. On top of it all, Marty was an exceedingly astute business executive, well versed in data and operations, intuitive about markets and people, and a natural leader.
For many years, The Simon Group’s signature event was a fall barbeque with a live music concert. It was American Idol, before American Idol. Everyone with any affiliation to the business was invited—clients, vendors, magazine reps, employees, neighborhood barkeeps and waiters, cleaning staff, neighbors, it was all good. And they were all invited to…sing. Years earlier, Marty and some close friends had started a band called the Rhythm Eggs. Marty named the group after little egg-shaped percussion shakers, and no one was able to stop him. The Eggs became the house band, backing anyone who wanted to sing, to perform on stage with a live band in front of a big crowd. For months, people would talk about if and what they would sing. The week before the barbeque, there’d be a full day of rehearsals. A day of jitters, tears, laughter, support and triumphs. The barbeque performances were amazing and for many the thrill of a lifetime. Never perfect but always wonderful. The Eggs, for all their time, talent and hard work, were paid in hoagies, bagels, doughnuts, and candy baskets - and Marty’s profound respect and gratitude.
Marty’s love of music was infectious. He believed everyone had music in them and supported anything leading to more music. He helped people find their voice, literally. Untold numbers of people sang into a microphone for the first time with Marty, or held their first guitar, kicked their first drum, wrote their first song. And many of these people went on to become lifelong musicians, on their own or with others, whom they often met through Marty.
Marty married Vera Cole in August 1991. She walked down the aisle through the woods in their backyard, to the Jose Feliciano version of Light My Fire, a perfect sendoff for their long joyful marriage. For thirty years, they flourished each and together, learning and growing in ever greater love, appreciation and understanding, til death did part. They traveled extensively and also loved being homebodies. Europe, national parks across the USA, and Sanibel, FL were favorites, along with many visits to South Carolina where they spent happy times with Vera's family, especially glorious summers on Lake Greenwood. They enjoyed many wonderful years living in Kintnersville, PA before moving to Upper Rocky Dale Road in Green Lane, PA, their home, lovingly deemed URock. Wherever they were, life together was an adventure, bathed in love, gratitude, and adoration for one another.
Marty sold The Simon Group to employees in 2012, and happily it still thrives. Marty spent much of his retirement days writing music—both lyrics and melodies. He had many of his songs produced as professional songwriter demos in Nashville, and may have been on his way to songwriting commercial success had his health allowed. Nonetheless, Marty had been a songwriter all his life, and had the satisfaction of knowing how widely adored and admired his music was by family and friends. For his 60th birthday, a friend worked with others to produce a full CD of songs written by Marty, lovingly titled Simonthology.
In September 2019, Marty was diagnosed with ALS disease, on top of his childhood polio and later in life post-polio. With unwavering grace, Marty accepted it all—the move from crutches to wheelchair, from Corvette to van to not driving at all, unable to play guitar, speaking softly, only able to eat shakes and thickened water (okay, and wine), and difficulty breathing. In the face of it all, he loved, smiled, and said thank you, to the very end.
Anyone with the good fortune to cross Marty’s path was forever changed by the encounter. His joy and appreciation for life, his beautiful smile, his sincere good will and love for us all moved us in ways that cannot be undone. In this, in us, he lives on.
Marty will be forever loved and missed by his wife Vera; his sister Hope Kostmayer and husband Charlie Huth; his daughter Rebecca and partner Stuart Silverman; his daughter Gabrielle and husband Jay Fallone, and children Juliet and Jivan; his daughter Stephanie, husband James Claffey, and children Bailey, Michael and Madeline; all of his wife’s big loving family, and many many many other family members and friends.