In Memory

Martin Lunch

Marty combined his last name with his wife Georgia Lara

 



 
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01/03/14 09:46 AM #1    

Robert Ellsberg

During our Junion year, when a lot of us were riding the bench in football, (I was fourth string!), coach Doster created a new position of "Monster" on defence and put Marty in. I was so jealous of "Marty the Monster", a fine guy a lot of kindness, (especially for a Monster!)


05/19/14 08:22 AM #2    

Daniel Davis

Marty and I became close friends following our graduation.  Olivia Damitz, Marty's then girl friend and later to become his wife, became close also.  There are many warm, pleasing memories of Marty and "Liv" among those swimming with them and generally being young fools in their apartment pool, and playing strip poker one liquor lubricated night.

They moved to Oregon and we kept in touch and my wife (Ann Conradi, now Pulse) and I traveled up there, in my VW bus for 13 hours (it wasn't great on hills and there were plenty of them going north) a few times.  They, and the unbelievable beauty of the Rogue River,  even enticed us into buying land in Shady Cove.

I've often wondered whatever happened to them and asked Doug Cross about it.  He found out that Marty had passed.  It felt like a piece of my heart was torn from it at the news.

Marty, and I know you're there, I love ya' and miss ya'.  Love and Light!!!


05/20/14 03:40 PM #3    

Janet Barlow

Marty was a good friend through Wilbur and Cubberley.  He was always friendly and nice.  It was also a surprise to me when he popped up and we had to put him in the In Memory section of our website.  He was a great guy and will be missed by many..


05/21/14 10:58 PM #4    

Joni Canoose (Corley)

Marty was one of those special people, even at a young age, that never set-up any boundries when it came to the acceptance of other people.  He always had  a smile and nice comment for all who knew him.  He usually seemed to be in a "happy place" even during those years we all were trying to find ourselves and our own identities.  I am sorry to hear that he has passed on.  Another one of the good guys!  Joni


05/26/14 10:24 AM #5    

Paul Barnes

Martin was defnitely one of the good ones, as Joni says . . .  friendly, without boundaries. . .  But then I tend to think that our class was comprised of a lot of "good ones" (probably all of us really, just trying to figure it out in one way or another. . .  who we were, how we fit in, what would the future bring -- and how were we going to make it through those three years in one piece. . .) . . .  Marty was a friend of more than just passing acquaintance, and if I remember correctly, a trumpeter. . .  played in the orchestra for the musicals -- but at this point, I could be wrong.  I also remember that he, Brian Mickel, and Phil Salzburg were kind of a team -- but again, accurate memory is more and more elusive . . .  bit of a crap shoot, as susceptible to invention as it is to veracity. Phil, Brian's brother Scotty (class of '67), and my brother Rick (class of '63) became surfing buddies; the garages of our family homes - first on Tioga Court, in Greenmeadow, right behind Cubberley; later on Seven Acres Lane in Los Altos Hills - were magically transformed into their surfboard storage, waxing, buffing, and repair shops. . .  cars commandeered to the driveway or the street till the next dash to Santa Cruz on ever-treacherous, always liberating, perfectly California Highway 17. 

Daniel's remark, "it was as if a piece was torn from it" exactly describes the feeling I've experienced in my own heart as the names on the In Memory page begin to add up and we learn about the passing of people we knew or were close to fifty years ago -- all of which in my own stubbornness or finely honed, artfully crafted skills of denial -- frankly  seems entirely premature.  How could this possibly happen? Weren't we invincible??

Someone once said that any death occurs too soon. . .  who among us would disagree were we to suddenly hear that unexpected knock on any of our doors, except, of course, in cases of unbearable, irreversible suffering?   I imagine most/many/some/a few of us have kept in touch with one or two friends from Cubberley days (maybe more), sharing the tribulations and triumphs of growing older as so many other people we knew or observed gradually recede from our lives and our memories.  Which is why, I think, the pain is startling, often acute.  Except for those with whom we've managed by coincidence or choice to share our lives' journeys, the rest of our class remains frozen in time, splashed by and filled with the sunlit promise so clearly reflected in the recently-posted photo of Mike and John Coffron. (Were we ever really that young??) So to learn of the passing of any classmate we might have known, respected, or admired -- up close and personal or from a distance -- means, for me at least, that image is jarred.  Where did the time go?  And have we lived our time well?

Ecclesiastes and The Byrds remind us, "to everything there is a season.  Turn, turn, turn. . ."  It's not impossible (though pretty unlikely), that when we signed each other's yearbooks during the last days of our senior year before rushing through that door marked "Future" -- soon to collide with war, the Civil Rights movement, the liberation struggles, college, career, marriage, partnership, children. . .  all that lay ahead for us -- we would or even could imagine writing memorial messages on a website ("what's a website??") some decades later. But here we are. . .  it's come to pass.  It's that time in our lives now (though I also know our work is far from finished. . .  with a bit of fortune, there are years yet to come and lives to live fully).  But learning of the death of a "good one" -- or any one, really, is sobering and thought-provoking.  And on this Memorial Day Monday, 2014, as I recall friendly, sunny, boundary-less and promise-filled Marty Lunch (who I'm pretty sure would not wish me or any of us to be sad or morose - not for long at any rate), this seems to be where my reflections are leading me.


06/08/14 08:03 AM #6    

Susan Hill

Oh so well written, Paul!!  Thank you for your eloquent and poetic expression of what I'm sure most of us feel about then, now, and all the space in between!


06/09/14 11:43 AM #7    

Paul Barnes

Thanks, Susan. . .  Certainly don't mean to be the daily downer, it was just that thinking about Marty - and others - helped focus or make clear my feelings about aging gracefully, continuing to lead a creative, fun, fulfilling, and productive life - because at heart I believe that whatever time is left us, it's all a gift, whatever we may happen to believe is the source or fountainhead from which that gift springs - and a gift that's important to honor, as best we're able.


06/10/14 07:08 AM #8    

Susan Hill

Well said, again!   You always were a good write; and I, for one, appreciate the wisdom you share.


06/10/14 11:53 AM #9    

Janet Barlow

Thank you Paul.  Once again you express what many of us feel and can't find the right words to express.  It is hard to realize how many friends and classmates we have lost and have fond memories of and not reflect on our own lives too.  We have been blessed that we were not the ones choosen so young.  We are blessed to still be here and to be productive and to be involved with families and friends or like you, an art where everyone is family,  I am very glad to have you as my friend and to have you express so much for all of us about life, living, and how blessed we really are along with remembering those who have gone before us.


06/12/14 08:29 AM #10    

Paul Barnes

Thanks, Janet - you are too kind.  

It's true that the theatre provides the opportunity to constantly form and re-form our extended famiies, and it's also true that we often get to grapple with some of the "big ideas," when we're working on plays, especially plays by Shakespeare. So thoughtful contemplation and expression can become a regular part of our lives (not that it takes being in the theatre to be thoughtful, contemplative, or expressive).  I remember Beth Lonon requiring us to learn soliloquys from "Macbeth" for extra credit our junior year (and reciting them to her during private lunch time tutorials. . .  I think my rendition of "Is this a dagger I see before me, the handle toward my hand. . ." may have made her choke on her egg salad sandwich) and hearing Miles Putnam read the role of Hamlet our senior year.  Brought it all alive in a way that's entirely too rare these days, it seems to me.  And it's in large part due to what I was exposed to in those classrooms that my life has happened to take the path it's taken.

Just yesterday (6/12/14) I sat in on the designer run-through of the production of "Hamlet" we're mounting this season here at the Great River Shakespeare Festival, the summer theatre company I helped found in the unlikely, down-and-dirty, Mississippi Riverfront town of Winona, Minnesota, and got to hear once again of "the undiscovered country from whose bourn no traveler returns" - among many other thought-provoking lines and phrases uttered by Shakespeare's characters - which makes it difficult not to consider the bigger picture, whatever that may be or mean to us individually, however much that changes from one day, week, month, or year to the next.  Such, I think, is the role of art in our lives (though the theatre's ability to entertain and relieve the tedium of our daily lives cannot be underestimated . . .  at best, it does both: provokes thought and keeps us laughing -- I love getting to direct "Forever Plaid" as much as I do "Romeo and Juliet" -- different means to a similar end, which is to make a difference - at least temporarily - in people's lives).  But there we have it. . .  me getting all serious again.  Maybe I need to stop reading the In Memory page on our class reunion website -- or just head out onto the River for a bit canoeing and kayaking, which is - truly - one of the great spiritual experiences available in this part of the country.  Goes hand-in-hand, or paddle-and-paddle, with a little Shakespeare.


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