I wanted to say more to you this morning but find it hard sometimes to speak aloud things that are more easily articulated on paper.
Marty was a beautiful boy. It is a tragedy that he was with us for such a short time. But in his eighteen years, he managed to make his mark. His intellect, his humor, his kindness, his curiosity always lurked behind his gentle smile.
On stage, he captivated me. Did you know that I worked for a professional children’s theater company? That I’ve seen countless gifted and talented young performers? Marty was different. His timing, yes. But also this thing that he could do that eludes so many actors – being able to express himself verbally while simultaneously reacting physically. His sonorous voice combined with his gracefully gawky movements to completely disarm the audience. A young Dick Van Dyke. Bob Dylan with a harp and guitar.
Such a talent. My favorite of all his performances was in The Violet Hour. His character carried with him a lifetime of experience. Maybe it wasn’t an act. Maybe Marty was an old soul inhabiting a young man’s body.
I only wish his young body had survived. I wish he could have become an old soul.
He has left a hole in my heart. There will never be another like him.