In Remembrance of Greg Marr

By Marti (Martha) Fullmer

Editor’s Note: I received an email that opened as follows: “A friend sent me your editor's letter in which you tell of Greg Marr's, and then Joel Patenaude's, influence on your writing for Silent Sports.” After a couple more email exchanges, I asked her to write about Greg because—the emailer was Greg Marr’s wife.

[After reading Marti's story, would you please be so kind as to scroll way (way) down and leave, as a comment, YOUR remembrances or thoughts of Greg Marr, Founder of Silent Sports Magazine and, as Marti has shown us, so much more!]

~ In the beginning ~

Despite living a couple blocks apart in Waupaca, having a number of mutual friends, we didn't meet until one snowy, music-filled November evening in 1990, at Partner's Pub in Stevens Point. We started dating in early December. He was a natural with my kids, Dave and Amanda, ages 6 and 7 at the time.

Anyone who had ever been to Greg's house knew his passions: music (he had a room dedicated to his collection), books (there were shelves and stacks of them), and animals—Ralph, an aging Beagle whom he'd rescued years before and carried upstairs because he couldn't do it himself anymore, and Oscar, a friendly parakeet who sometimes sat with us at dinner. Of course, silent sports, especially cross-country skiing and cycling, as evidenced by his quivers of skis and stable of bikes.

Greg Marr

He was old-fashioned and wooed me with music. He'd play a track for me from one album, then another from a different album, and on and on. He appreciated talented songwriting. In Greg's opinion, Bob Dylan was tops, but he had other favorites, too: Van Morrison, Robert Earl Kean, John Prine, Lyle Lovett, Steve Earle, the list goes on. I grew to love them, too, though I came to appreciate Dylan after Greg was gone.

Although Greg had many good friends, there were three best friends: Joel Fisher, Paul West, and Greg Stadler. When they were together, Greg and the others called each other “Dick.” Even if all four were in the same room, the right Dick would respond when he was addressed. Those boys had hung around since their college days, and they, along with other good friends, loved to bike and ski, which they did often, in all kinds of weather. After a ride or ski, the stories they told flowed late into the night, and got better with each retelling.

~ November 1991 ~

We were engaged a year later.

I asked him.

It was important to me that my kids and I had stability, and if we weren't going there, I needed to know.

Upper left: Greg with kids, Amanda and Dave. All 3 celebrated April birthdays; Upper right: Greg wearing apron (he loved his grill); Lower left: Marti & Greg circa 1995 wearing hand-knit sweaters brought back from their 1994 New Zealand trip; Lower right: Greg and Marti posed before a waterfall in New Zealand in 1994; Greg wrote an article for EcoTraveler about their hut-to-hut trek there, published in the May/June 1995 issue, entitled, "Taking a Load Off."

He was understandably leery. He said, "Please understand, it wouldn't mean just marrying you; it would mean marrying three of you." I told him that's what being engaged was all about, testing the waters, and, if at any time he decided he didn't want to marry me, he could let me know. That gave him some comfort, so we made it official. But, the Birkie approached so wedding plans had to wait.

~ February 1992 ~

Greg did the Birkie; I did the Korte.

~August 1992 ~

Horsing around at my house after a softball tournament, chasing my two children around the yard, I was on his shoulders. We took a shortcut through the garage and fell coming out the service door. An ambulance ride ensued. I was fine, but he told me later—that was the moment when he knew he loved the three of us and wanted to marry the whole package.

~ January 23, 1993 ~

Greg and Martha got hitched.

Greg talked of many Birkies where everyone, meaning a handful up to as many as 15 people, arrived the evening before the Birkie, and got together for dinner and beer. The stories would start. You know the laughter you hear when folks are genuinely enjoying themselves? That's the laughter I hear in my mind's ear.

For Greg Marr, smiling and cycling went together.

Greg was a middle-of-the-pack athlete, and he worked hard to stay there. The more he could learn about how to get stronger, fitter, more nourished, the better. To that end, he appreciated the contributors who wrote about training, nutrition, and emerging technology in gear. Anything to enhance the pleasure of silent sports, for him and his readers.

A solidly built guy, Greg never felt natural running; he called what he did plodding. However, he believed in cross-training, so he plodded. He also lifted weights and roller skied to keep in shape. When the weather got right for cycling or skiing, he would be ready for the joy of the silent sport.

~ About that Magazine ~

With Joel Patenaude at the managing editor helm, the February 2004 Silent Sports Magazine cover featured Greg Marr. This copy still hangs, matted and framed, on a wall on the sales floor at the Hostel Shoppe, Stevens Point, WI. Photo courtesy of Scott Cole.

There were typical stressors for anyone in print publishing: late ads, not enough ads, typos, too many events, not enough calendar space, pre-press crew with split priorities over multiple publications, bad coffee.

Greg was better at writing than layout and design, but there he was each month, laying out the magazine and being "chief cook and bottle washer." He was quick to praise his sales and writing staff, grateful for their support and loyalty.

He was Mr. Silent Sports. Because he had this job, his passion, he got to ski on his lunch break, or could try out equipment and then write a review. He lived Silent Sports, and Silent Sports was him. There was a year when he committed to riding his bike to work every day, and so he did.  In a way, it's hard for me to separate the man from the magazine he founded and loved.

~ 2001 ~

Each time Greg registered for the Birkie, he committed himself to finishing. Sometimes he had a miserable Birkie because of low snow, carrying a few extra pounds, or his knees weren't at their best. When he got into his fifties, although he wasn't afraid of working hard, he thought it was okay to step out of the race if you gave it your best, but it just wasn't fun or happening anymore.

~ 2002 ~

Summer of 2002, Greg got a rowing scull. He took lessons, teaching me and Amanda how to row, too. One of his editor's letters was about his early morning rows out on the Chain O' Lakes in Waupaca. A blue heron sometimes kept Greg company; he called him Big Blue. Not an early riser, Greg willed himself awake early for those rows. He’d come home with a grin on his face, and a story about Big Blue.

~ December 19, 2003 ~

Greg's first day of Christmas vacation was Friday, December 19th. He'd made a list of things he wanted to do while on vacation, and left it on the dining room table. That morning, he left the house with my brother for a weekend of skiing at Winter Park; they stopped at Iola on their way. Late that afternoon, while skiing at Iola, Greg suffered a fatal heart attack, an acute myocardial infarction, according to the coroner's report.

The note . . .

~ In Remembrance ~

Greg was in love with life, never happier than when he was outside, doing silent-sports-type things. We were on our bikes one summer day, and stopped for a water break, when I looked over and saw him staring into the distance, smiling. I asked what he might be thinking about. "Babe,” he said, “I'm just diggin' the scene."

Dedication bench and marker at Iola Winter Sports Club. More than just a photo-by credit; Greg Loescher hurried to meet deadline to take this photo because "The pics got me out biking and hiking, so the journey is the reward!" - which is quite Greg Marr of him, the highest compliment Silent Sports Magazine could ever offer.

Of all his activities, he lived for skiing. After our January wedding, we didn't go somewhere warm for our honeymoon; we went to beautiful Marquette, Michigan, so he could continue training for the Birkie. I was happy playing second fiddle to snow because he was happy.

Who knew there would be too much snow? We tried, but it just kept coming. They couldn't keep the trails groomed, so we packed up and headed to Minocqua Winter Park, and the trails sufficed quite nicely.

Greg created Silent Sports Magazine long before I knew him. But I came to know the magazine exists because he wanted to share his love of self-propelled aerobic activity, and was a big fan of the written word. The combination of these two loves became his dream career. He often remarked how very lucky he felt he was.

It's been more than 16 years, but I can still hear him sometimes— “How lucky am I?!”

To everyone: Thank you for indulging me.

I wish the best for the future of Silent Sports Magazine and all its readers.

Dedication plaque at the Tomorrow River State Trail that Greg Marr was instrumental in getting going in Waupaca County. Photo courtesy of Greg Loescher.

♥

[After reading Marti's story, would you please be so kind as to scroll way (way) down and leave, as a comment, YOUR remembrances or thoughts of Greg Marr, Founder of Silent Sports Magazine and, as Marti has shown us, so much more!]

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