I may have known Marvin longer than anyone in the department. I first met him when I was 19 and taking advanced calculus at the University of Wisconsin. The regular professor for the course took sick and Marv filled in for him. My fellow math majors and I immediately noted his ironic tone of voice and Groucho-like delivery and hung on to his every word. He was somewhat dashing, especially, perhaps, for a mathematician. I asked a few questions in class and afterward and it was also clear that he was a very supportive and patient teacher. After a number of years he came to Temple and I reminded him of our first meeting. We gossiped about Wisconsin math faculty and talked about our common Midwestern roots in Chicago and Madison, topics that came up repeatedly.

Over the years we kidded around and riffed nonsensically whenever we met in the hallway as well at weddings, bar and bat mitzvahs, and at other parties and occasions. He was always his warm, funny, gently skeptical self. I remember his sitting in on my class when I was up for promotion and saying afterward that he never thought of expressing something the way that I had. I knew he was just being kind, but I appreciated it nonetheless.

His aversion to email and technology was more apparent than real. We were discussing something recently and Marv wondered at the etymology of some word or phrase. I quickly looked it up on my android phone and he said wistfully that he might like one of those but only if it came with a human operator. A month or so before he died, Sheila and I attended a toga birthday party at Princeton for Phyllis' daughter, Karen. Marv and Phyllis were both wearing togas and looked postively vibrant as they danced across the floor. That's the way I'll remember him.