It was always a memorable occasion when Professor Marty would join my family for dinner. I would often greet Professor Marty at the front door of our house in Hyde Park, and he would invariably have a gift for me. Every time I would receive one of these wrapped gifts, I knew exactly what it was. A book. Thoughtful or funny, the book was always one that a young boy would enjoy.
My father, Langdon Gilkey, was a colleague of Professor Marty at the University of Chicago. So over the years, I grew up reading the books Professor Marty gave me, listening to their frequent and broad-ranging discussions, and chiming in to ask important questions such as whether the Chicago Bears would find a way to win the game on Sunday or whether I could go outside to play. I recall him as a kind and considerate man invariably wearing something I never saw my father wear. A bow tie.
Much later (sometime in the 1990s) when I was a young adult and my parents had moved to Charlottesville, Va I happened to be home when Professor Marty came to visit. I recall one extended political conversation we all had at that point. At the time there was a Speaker of the House with whom Professor Marty was not enamoured. And that is an understatement. During the lengthy conversation, he would not say this person’s name (“the person who shall remain nameless”) so we had a slightly comical discussion. It was impressive to note the consistency and determination.
I will always cherish my memories of Professor Marty. He was attentive and thoughtful to me. I know he did not know this but he was in some ways one of my childhood heroes. I admired him and as I write this reflection, I can see him standing on our front porch wearing a gray patterned wool jacket and crisp bow tie and handing me a present wrapped in blue paper. We both always knew what it was before I opened the gift and we both would smile.
Amos W. Gilkey