Asked to reminisce about Martin's career with the Department of Drama, I must look back for a moment to his predecessor, the first to hold the job.  Some of you will remember the dreaded Bronson Platt (cue Jaws theme), who was made manager of the Drama Building soon after it opened.  Platt’s job description fell far short of Martin’s shaping of the job, but he paved the way for the Beekman reign.

My first encounter with Martin was in 1976 when he auditioned for my production of the musical Of Thee I Sing, a show that for some time held the Department record for largest cast and biggest box office.  Martin wanted to be in it. He wasn’t a student, having already earned his M.A., but he yearned to act.  After hearing him sing and watching him dance I cast him anyway.  He played one of the nine Supreme Court justices, a part without solo song or dance. That didn't deter him, since he didn't want to be a star.   Any of you who know Martin can appreciate that he stood out, playing the role with typical enthusiasm and vigor.  Enthusiasm is Martin's middle name.

In 1976 the dreaded Bronson decided he was fed up and left.  Martin applied for the building management position; I’m not sure anyone else did.  I hired Martin, perhaps out of desperation. But I gotta tell ya, it may have been one of the smartest things I did as chair.

At first Martin didn't have a lot to do.   He oversaw staff and building activities, scheduling and publicity for Department productions.  (Should I not have these facts exactly accurate, Martin will be the first to set me straight.)  Over time the job evolved simply because things had to be done and Martin was there to do them.  In the process he developed remarkable skills, especially when dealing with the Byzantine intricacies of academic finance and personnel management.  What a boon he became to a chair whose mathematical understanding was hardly more advanced than kindergarten numbers.

From Right to Left, Martin Beekman, Jeffrey Freehof, and Art Greene in George Kosovic's Happy Hour, 1978 (click for larger photo)

Again and again, in the Department and with Heritage Rep, Martin saved my butt with a sigh and a "Don't worry, I'll take care of it."  Somehow he figured out how to push  paper and bend rules to our benefit.  Few know or appreciate how often Martin untied Gordian knots in Carruthers Hall.   He also had to put up with me and other chairs  regularly going over budget.  He did that with grace, skill and aplomb. So I say to whoever succeeds him, learn from the master.

About Martin's enthusiasm.  Few people in my life have been so enthusiastic about so much.  Baseball.  Or a performance he especially liked.  His family.  But I recall a unique example of Martin's enthusiasm.  He bought a new Honda in the days when Japanese cars were taking off in the United States.  They were rightly being touted for wonderful gas mileage, and since Martin was one to be very close with a dollar he was excited about this nifty car.  He was even more excited when he experienced the remarkable gas mileage.  He came bounding up the stairs every day to say the car didn't seem to use any gas!  I don't know how many weeks went by without his filling up, but eventually George Black admitted to opening Martin's gas cap with his own gas key and topping up the tank every couple of days.

One of Martin's enthusiasms for which we should all be grateful is his passion for acting.   I have seen him do some truly memorable characters over the years, and that is something I will miss as he wanders off to his fishing pole and golf clubs.  Recent memorable roles include the father in Proof, followed by his absolutely spot-on Little League coach in Rounding Third.  Those were evenings to be cherished by us all.

Martin has been a presence in the Department for years, and though I am removed from it these days, I know he will be missed.  No one is indispensable, but this is a guy who comes close.  Have a good rest of your life, dear friend.

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