James Tomlin (1961)

Martin R Gafvert Feb 22, 1943 – April 7, 23

I first met Marty at Garfield Park in the summer of 1954, we were 5^th graders, just 10. He had moved to South Pasadena from Duluth, Minnesota. Sheila and I passed through Duluth in 1980. It was so beautiful, and I seized the occasion to call Marty and tell him how beautiful it was. After a long silence, he replied, “Jim, it’s the middle of August.”

In 1954, it was the middle of August. . . . in California. During the summer months, the City of South Pasadena sponsored free kids shows at the Rialto Theater, I took Marty, first to the free kids’ show, and later to the Plunge. In 1954, Summer was forever, Marty’s phrase. We became lifelong friends. He passed away in this, the 69^th summer of our friendship.

Marty has always been described by those who knew him as hard-working. His mother worked as a school librarian. Whatever he or his sister Jane wanted, they had to work for it, and Marty was extremely generous to his beautiful sister. During our high school years, as a result of Draconian savings Marty was able to purchase a series of barely mobile vehicles. Often with the help of friends Bill Purves and Frank Szerdahelyi, he restored their mobility and enjoyed the liberation of personal transportation or a profit from the sales.

My aversion to, and lack of an automotive skill set is well known. Not surprising, I was of no help in these projects and pleased not to be counted upon. On one occasion, when Marty and Bill had completely reassembled an ancient engine, they were able to get the vehicle running and drove about for a bit. Upon their return, they discovered what they hoped to be some non-essential parts in the driveway. Marty may not have restored the “possibly non-essential” parts to their proper places.

Marty was self-reliant as soon as he could walk. He might be the only one of my South Pasadena friends to work his way through college without parental funding or a scholarship, first at Pasadena City College and later at UCLA. While he did other jobs, his main income came from an LA Times paper route while at PCC, sometimes wearing ankle weights and running route while surviving on [maybe] 5 hours of sleep. I once told him I was sleeping for him. Kent once accompanied Marty on the route [Why?] and spoke philosophically, eloquently and metaphysically about the Sunday folding process.

Marty continued the route after graduation from UCLA, and during his years at Air Research. How he managed to work these jobs and still maintain excellent grades is a tribute to his abilities and perseverance. Rising at 4:30, he never “slept in.” He drove to the LA Times distribution mother ship to fold the papers and then into the pre-dawn darkness. I should add, through rain, hail and sometimes sub-30-degree temperatures. There were, of course, no sick days.

In addition, during his time at UCLA, and early years at Air Research, he served as a “guinea pig” [his words]. He worked first as part of test teams for Air Research, analyzing various systems and equipment that would eventually fulfill President John Fitzgerald Kennedy’s promise to, “We ah, propose to put a man on the moon by the end of this decade,” a bold challenge. Marty tested the real space suits and endured stress tests in a centrifuge, incredibly maintaining consciousness. Usually.

These tests simulated what our astronauts would face as the run up to President Kennedy’s bold challenge. President Kennedy didn’t live to see that day, but millions of people across this globe did, thanks to people like Marty, the astronauts stayed alive just a few feet from a subzero, airless, unforgiving environment only a few feet away. He was often asked after a test, “Did that hurt?”

Marty once met an astronaut on a trip to the Space Center in Houston. Learning that Marty was part of a team that tested equipment and systems, he literally leaped up to shake Marty’s hand.  In what Marty described as an emotional voice, thanked him profusely for those years of testing those systems and equipment, a task not without risks.

Later, after transitioning to Garrett Industries, Marty spent the remainder of his career as a technical editor drafting proposals for the company technical proposals. When accepted, these brought jobs for many. Marty retired in 2012.

Never one to have just one job, during his years at Air Research, he also began buying and fixing up homes, duplexes, and apartment buildings to rent or resell. Anyone who has ever been a landlord knows how stressful and contentious these interactions can be. For me a tough week might be produced by fear of losing a track meet to Newport. [we never did] While I labored trying to bench press 200 pounds, Marty was carrying 200 pounds of sheet rock up a 12-foot ladder.

Marty rarely played practical jokes. My lack of automotive knowledge made me particularly vulnerable, yes, thanks Purves for disconnecting my spark plugs. However, once on our way to find an open gym [or one that COULD be opened] for basketball, Marty told me he had to stop off at one of his rentals to collect rent. Knocking on the door, a large, formidable looking man answered, and the encounter went like this.

“Are you here for the rent?” he asked belligerently.

“Yea, you said you’d have it two weeks ago,” Marty replied.

“I haven’t got it, what are you going to do, kick my ass?”

“Of course not, I brought Jim for that.”

The three of us had a good laugh then, one of us enjoying it a little less than the other two. Of course, I was glad not to have to hurt the much larger man, who as it turned out, was a long-time friend of Marty’s.

Despite Marty’s always sleep deprived schedule, he always found time to play some basketball, earning the nickname “The Worm” for his uncanny ability to steal the ball from you even when you were expecting it. Marty often beat me even when I brought an all-league player from my high school to the game; a rebounder who could pass to me for open but often unsuccessful shots. Considering the amount of time we spent playing basketball, honing essential life skills, we should have been a lot better. Victories, and defeats, were celebrated at the local Taco Treat in South Pasadena. Meals of “Two Tacos and a Coke” have never been equaled anywhere else since.

Marty was well liked for his kindness, his wry humor, and his sage advice. A psychology major, he would sometimes try to help you solve a dilemma by beginning sentences with, “And how did this make you feel?” He agreed we both married above ourselves, beautiful sisters. It was great being his brother-in-law, and I was glad I played a small part in bringing Becky and Marty together.

Marty enjoyed seeing his outstanding children, Andrew and Sheila grow into fine adults. We were always talking about our children, and he was so happy to be a Dad. He loved them greatly and worked hard to give them a good start in life. Later he was so proud of Kevin and David, and so glad they were being raised by loving parents, Sarah and Andrew. and hearing about their lives even with the restrictions of the pandemic.

No one could have taken better care of Marty these last few difficult years than Rebecca, surely an Angel. It’s no exaggeration to say he would never have been able to enjoy these years without her constant love, support and 24-hour care. His close friends were all glad to be able to celebrate Marty’s 80^th birthday with him just a few short weeks ago. Not long afterward, I noticed a photograph on Becky’s small corkboard of a now long-ago class gathering in the 1970s. Every one of the six people in the photo was at the birthday party. Truly Remarkable, and the definition of how meaningful relationships, nurtured with continuous care are the most important elements of our lives.

I am not exaggerating when I say that Marty’s passing leaves, for Sheila and I a hole that can’t be filled, in our world and in our hearts. How appropriate are the words of Diane Warren, sung by Faith Hill,

When I think back on these times
And the dreams we left behind
I'll be glad 'cause I was blessed to get to have you in my life
When I look back on these days
I look and see your face
You were right there for me

In my dreams, I'll always see you soar above the sky
In my heart, there'll always be a place for you for all my life
I'll keep a part of you with me
And everywhere I am, there you'll be

As Marty departs this world, it's good to remember it's like a ship disappearing over the horizon. The ship disappears from our sight. Even though we may climb to a higher deck, or up the mast to see further, the ship still disappears from our view, but the ship is not gone, it is merely out of our sight. As Marty ventures from our sight to the shores of the other side, as Christians, we know that the Lord of us all is awaiting his mooring alongside the next pier. He's not gone, only waiting on the other side beyond the blue ocean depths. He will be there to greet our ship when our time comes.

Rest in Peace old friend…the newspapers have been folded…the projects have kept our astronauts safe, and your dear Bride was by your side, at last you can take your rest.

I am reminded of a song by the Irish singer Enya Brennan, “On my way home, I’ll remember all the good days. On my way home, I’ll remember all the best days.”

And Marty, we have all shared the best day, with you, today.