Vic’s remarks at Arthur Niederhoffer’s memorial

Arthur Niederhoffer
1917 - 1981

Dad would love this ceremony. He wishes me to thank all of you for coming and taking out so much time from work and family. The family deeply appreciates all of the very generous contributions to the memorial fund. But he quickly adds "that's enough" and truly the tribute would be more appropriate for others here today like Alex Smith or Al Danoff or Mother; that he's just an ordinary man and he doesn't understand why so many people love him.

Gail said it best when my mother reminisced, "He wasn't an ordinary man." She said, "He was like a God should have been." His good colleague Abe Blumberg expressed it this way: "Arthur loved life, he affirmed it in everything he did and felt about his family. Long before his illness he would tell me about his happiness in his work and the many joys he found in his wife and children. Arthur was the bravest person I have ever known. He never complained about his pain or the foul blow life had dealt him. Forgive me, but I have a great need to say that Arthur was a giant, and that I know that I have never and will never encounter the likes of him again. Yet, he was a thoroughly simple man - it was his tastes in music, art and literature that were complicated. He was easily pleased by simple things such as conversation, a meal, or a cup of coffee with a friend. His complexity as an intellectual only became apparent when one examined the almost impossible standards he set for himself, but not for others. He was the most forgiving person when it came to the foibles and transgressions of others."

The first sixty years of his life were constant joy. Never tired, always active loving his job, filled with family and friends, culture, daily play and exercise. From his work as a policeman, however, he knew of the tenuousness of life. He frequently remarked during that time that he felt his life was complete. That if he were to die the next day, he would consider life a success. Until the end, Dad held to the belief that "I have more to live for than any man but I am prepared to die." He didn't want to go. But he felt content. He achieved his highest goal: To leave life better than it was before - through his own actions but mainly through his children and teachings. Fortunately, during the last years while he fought his heroic and terrible battle, he saw his grandchildren grow to his tender satisfaction, thereby creating in him the glow of knowing that his children would achieve their highest goals also.

He led a happy life; raising the good family, pursuing scholarship, teaching, creating joy, enjoying each minute, and loving. He gave to his innumerable friends without taking, and he had no enemies. That a man as affectionate, as kind, as creative, as wise, as strong, as gentle, and as loved as this should have lived is a triumph.

Dad was always modest. He received the greatest joy from the accomplishments of those close to him. He would be shocked to hear me describe him as the most talented person I knew. He was the Renaissance man, the philosopher kind. He knew a lot about everything. He was the great scholar. He knew the sciences, humanities and languages. He could play every ball game well. His grace as an ice skater and dancer was exquisite. He could play the great masterpieces by ear on the violin. He wrote beautifully and was a fantastic public speaker. In this age, we expect a man to be good at one thing at best; to work well or to be good with family; perhaps to inspire his students. Artie was strong and talented enough to be good at all aspects of life.

The thing that permeated Artie and made him different from anyone else I have ever known was his capacity for love. He loved so many things so well. The things he loved best were family, music, reading, teaching, scholarship, romance and athletics. The beauty of his life was that he spent most of his life doing the things he loved so much. His exuberance and joy in his every day activities was something all who came in contact with him saw and this is why my Uncle Howie, who he loved like a son, was able to say that not only did no one have a bad word for him, but everyone who had anything to do with him had only superlatives to say about him.

The quality of his that I think made the feelings toward him so intense was his combination of strength and tenderness. Here was a man who could cry like a baby with sympathy and compassion for the slightest problem someone else had. His father, Martin, told us that when Artie was a little boy, he cried for the better part of a month when a pet pigeon of his hurt its leg. Artie has been crying at the good, the beautiful and the tragic of life ever since.

Dad carried his gentility with him throughout his life. As a policeman, he was proud that he never shot anyone. As an athlete, his opponents close shots were always in. As a teacher, no student ever flunked. As a father, his children could do no wrong. As a husband, his wife was always right.

The incredible thing about this gentleman was that he was strong as a rock. Typical of the strength was the ability to maintain jobs as policeman, complete his PhD at Brooklyn and NYU with straight A's, be with family at all times, and still play ball and dance 8 hours a day every day at the beach. Even near the end, he was more active than all but a few 60 year olds and anyone who didn't know of it wouldn't have believed that he was sick at all.

Above all, Artie was good. In this room there are at least a dozen who felt that Artie was like a second father to them. There are dozens who felt that Artie was their best friend, their model, that he would never let you down, that you could always count on him, that he would always do the right thing and lead you to take the high road in your pursuits. While some are generous with their ideas or their time or their money, Artie was generous with all of these. There was nothing he had that he wouldn't share with his friends. His nature was unalloyed by pettiness or pretension.

I can talk best about what he meant to me. The earliest recollections I have of him were his coming to "sit by me" every night to tell me a story before I went to bed. My favorites were tales of the Norse Gods and when "he was a little boy." I would stay awake each night waiting for him to come home from the 12 midnight shift as a policeman. The jangling of keys would begin, his foot steps would become louder, and the crackling of fresh bread and ice cream for us to share before my stories would be heard. These sittings continued daily until I was 14. By then I'd be waiting for him to do my homework with me or on those rare occasions there was no written assignment, to get his ideas on the subject I was taking.

While I wasn't a very worldly or well read young man, I could tell that Dad had an awesome intellect. That he knew more than the teacher about every subject I studied. But the most mind-boggling thing to me then was that he never agreed with the teacher, the texts, or their interpretation of anything. The views came naturally to him. He loved to conform when he could, but he just had a new way of looking at everything. And he was able to support his ideas with an incredible array of facts from all fields. I felt he knew everything about everything.

Artie taught me everything I knew about sports. From the time I was two, he was throwing balls to me. He started with ping pong balls. Then we went to punctured tennis balls, the pink ball and finally to tennis balls. When I was 2 he would take me to the emptied-out pool at Brighton Beach to crawl over to the paddle tennis court he set up in it. As soon as I crawled onto his court to play with him and Elaine, he'd pick me up and carry me back to where I started. By the time I had repeated this three or four times their game was over. Then my father would hold me and help me hit it saying in that warm voice of his, "Great shot", "Good", "Wonderful", whenever I could get my racquet on the balls he threw to me.

The next thing I remember was going to watch him play tennis each weekend with his good friends, Hi and George, and his beloved father-in-law, Sam, at the park. The friends would play their hearts out, cursing and exclaiming. But my father was different. He was always complimenting his opponents on every shot that was hit. And even then I could see that on several occasions when his opponent hit the ball out, he would call it in. He could run anything down and he hit everything with his mellifluous strokes. In talking with Dad during his last days, it gave him incredible joy to reminisce over all the doubles matches we had won together, to review all the tournaments he had seen me win, to talk about the shrubbery behind the courts I played tournaments in that he had picked bare wishing me to victory, and comforting me in defeat.

Diane put Dad's feelings about competition this way: "He had the incredible ability as a parent to be able to engender confidence in each of us and to provide the most soothing comfort for any disappointments we might experience. There was the deepest feeling of safety in his presence, that nothing could ever damage our value in his eyes. He asked of us that we do our best, to be honest, loving and true. Outcome mattered little in comparison to his trust and belief in us." I know that the athletic ability and sportsmanship he instilled in me by example and teaching was the source of the resilience and strength that I was able to display in my life.

While Dad was always with his children during the days and evenings and never left Elaine's side at all, I did notice that somehow he also always had time to help a friend. A prime example was his great friend Miltie Cohen who he shared a patrol car on the police force with for several years. While Miltie was a great policeman, a creative entrepreneur, and mechanical genius, his chances of passing the sergeant's test appeared to be zero. To help his friend, Dad and Miltie met twice a week after 12 midnight at our house so that Dad could drill him on all the past exam questions. Miltie passed that exam and like many others considered Dad his best friend. The intensity of his sadness as transmitted to us is indescribable. Dad would feel tremendous warmth in hearing this praise from his brother Bob. "The best portions of a good man's life are his little nameless, unremembered acts of kindness. The generosity which he showed to me and my sister Jane and which countless friends recounted to me throughout my life with a glow in their eyes, makes him immortal. Those he gave to pass on the gift. Arthur gave and gave. The cycle continues, Artie is immortal."

As I write this I am looking at dozens of expressions of gratitude and appreciation from these friends that Dad helped out by landing them a job, lending them his last pennies, getting them through a crucial test, sparking their published works or guiding them through life. As his good friend, George Anders expressed it, "Artie was encircled with love, and encircled all of us with his love, wisdom, compassion, and enthusiasm for life. Few men achieve so much or give so much even in the longest of lifetimes."

Dad appreciated the great, and the small. His lively delight in rereading a classic, considering a theory in a new way, discussing his pleasure in a concert or museum exhibit was contagious. His enjoyment of a cup of coffee with friends, a dinner with family, a song, was full and deep. Hearing, for example, Roy play "What I Did For Love," on the piano, he'd say, "I don't know why every time I hear this song I cry." His zest and wonder at the richness of life had another side also; a sense of poignance, of the shortlivedness of all great things. When Roy was less than a year old, he described to Diane how exciting it was to be with him, seeing things in a new way, discovering the world again. It was part of his love of life and ability to respond emotionally and intellectually at just the level that each of us needed at every stage of our lives. His interest and pleasure in the development of Galt, Katie, and Lauren, their uniqueness, their relation, their first sentences and their commentary on the world was passionate. He would say it was "remarkable," he really felt the beauty, the power, the wonder of life. Whether with Roy at a school concert or a discussion about the computer world, with myself about business philosophy, with Diane about her psychological study, he was able to enter into our worlds with knowledge, care, respect and openness.

Music pervaded life with Dad. From the time I was three, Dad was there sitting next to me on the piano bench making sure I finished my practice before I could go to the beach. After I finished the piano, it was the clarinet. And no matter what defects I found in the instruments, Artie was there to fix it up. After I finished playing, he'd sit down with Diane. After he tuned her flute, it was her turn on the piano. His desire to have us play music was so strong that he would suppress me if I refused to play. From these exhortations and practice sessions came the tenacity which has marked the Niederhoffer children. At every family gathering the high point was a musical interlude. After heated exhortations from Dad as to which piece in the repertoire should be played, the concert would begin. Finally, Dad would play along by ear on the violin while Diane played the flute, I played the piano and Roy played one of his instruments and everyone else sang or danced.

At the age Of 49 after 20 years, Dad and Mom had their third child, Roy, who is the musical genius of the family. Of course, Dad was there with him every weekend playing along with him at Suzuki. But Roy played 3 instruments and in addition to supervising each practice, Dad was there at every lesson. One of the great poetic images of my life will be the specter of Dad crying with the joy, the beauty and the sadness of the last five years of his life as he listened to Roy taking lessons on the violin and hearing the plaintive melodies from the violin.

His relationship with mother was a model of what a marriage could and should be. "Whatever I have," he would say, "whatever we have, we owe it all to mother." The feeling in the house was of the richest home in the world, the most loving marriage. On the tennis courts, at a concert, or at the desk working on a book together. My mother expressed it this way; "Arthur was the center and patriarch of the family, he was the great protector, mentor and the teacher." As husband, father, and grandfather, he provided endless support and established the highest standards. It showed in everything we did. My mother fell in love with him when she was 15 1/2. She was married at 17 1/2. He treated her like a bride their whole married life. They were married 37 years. He never said an unkind word and he never stayed away from her one night. He made her finish college and graduate college. Wherever they went to any gathering, his warmth and good humor created a surge of good cheer in those surrounding him. There seemed to be an aura of brightness about him that attracted people to him. The pain of the loss is great, but what a good fortune to have had that extra light for as many good years.

Artie was a great stylist. He knew the right way to do everything and he gave us lessons in everything from the correct way of brushing my teeth, how to kiss a girl to how to fly a kite. He was much more interested in the eternal virtue of how something should be than the actual result itself. Frequently, I played in a tennis tournament and would be winning a match but not with proper methods. "Hit out", he'd entreat me. "Forget about winning. I hate to see you pushing." Dad and I played sports constantly. I kept trying to teach him an effective forehand swing through shortening up the swing. He had fantastic timing and could have been the best in Brooklyn had he been willing to sacrifice form. But there was never any compromise for him with the muse of perfection.

Unlike other stylists Dad was also a great one for practical details. The day before Fran and Diane's wedding, he taught Fran how to dance the Waltz. When you got in trouble, Dad was always there to back you out. He chauffeured everyone in the family to the airport to wish them good cheer and to save money. He was always there to babysit so that he and Elaine could make sure the children were being cared for properly and also so that Gail and I would have more time together. During the height of his illness, NCZ moved its offices. Artie came that night to erect glass shelves for my shells. While he drilled, Elaine had to hold him up because of his pain. He confided to me later that there was many a time that he had to force himself to put in that little extra effort for his loved ones. But he always figured he should do it because that was what life was all about.

One of the incredible things about Dad was how he fit so much into each day. At the age of 15, while competing on the Brooklyn College football and wrestling teams, he held jobs to work his way through school. He was with his children at each practice and performance, at the end of the day to sit by them when he told stories of great hope and learning and gave his creative and compassionate views on all subjects. Yet he always held more than one full time job. He found time to get his PhD with straight A's, to write books and articles, to serve as family chauffeur. To serve as second father for dozens. To read every new book. To consult with and be with his wife Elaine, every night of their marriage. How did he do it? He had a pure heart. His mind and body were never sidetracked with doubts and recriminations. He loved every minute of every day.

Galt has asked me, "How do we know that the spirit of Grandpa is still living?" We will know it when we hear a beautiful melody, when we hit a shot with the right spin, when we read a book written in the grand style with encyclopedic references to knowledge of all sorts, when we see someone poor sharing his last pennies with someone needy, when a father rolls around on the floor with his children, when a husband cannot bear to be away from his wife for one minute, when you try hard to win with dignity, or you do something nice for a friend. Because Grandpa's spirit is still living, all who knew him will be able to live and love better.

Dad taught us how to live. Also to die. Finally, after giving and giving his whole life without taking from anyone, he began to take. He learned not to feel limited by money for the first time. He was proud the bills would be paid and that a private nurse could be around. He requested things that would give him happiness; ices, a Julius, and a Betamax. While we all did have heart to heart talks with him in the last days, they were merely part and parcel of what we had constantly been doing with him before. The transition was a natural one.

He had thoughts of love, wisdom and personal kindness for all who visited him. He told me that he felt that my competitive juices had been transmitted to him from watching me win all those tournaments and that he was so thankful to me for helping him fight this horrible battle. He told Gail that he was looking at her to be the bulwark of the family because of her great strength and character. He told Diane that she was the sweetest and most wonderful daughter a man could ever have. He told Roy that he was the genius of the family and that there was no limit to what he could achieve. He told Elaine that he had always loved her and that without her he would have been nothing. He told Howie that he loved him like a son. In short he told each, the kindest and most sentient thing we would have wished to hear.

In his last days, Dad was comforted by his good life. He could think of nothing in his life he regretted. The worst offence he ever committed, he confided, was to ask for a Christmas present as a policeman. He said, "Those who have a pure heart can go in peace." Then he gave Gail the reference for her comfort. His student, Angelo Pisana, saw Dad in front of John Jay and asked him how he was feeling. After a few seconds thought, Dad asked him if he knew he was sick. When Angelo answered that he did, Dad remarked, "I'm all right." When speaking at the memorial service, Angelo indicated that he knew Dad would be all right up there but out of deference to Dad's beliefs he didn't mention it. When I asked him how he knew, he said this to me, "Your father was like Christ and there's no way that Christ would turn back another like himself." How Dad would appreciate and chuckle over that remark.

In thinking of Dad, I will always remember his guidance for us: "Be nice. Take care of the family. Be generous. Take it easy. So what of it. You can do it. Have culture. Enjoy. Teach. Have children."

In the course of my studies I came across the following definition of a successful life: "He has achieved success who has lived well, laughed often, and loved much; who has enjoyed the truth of pure women, the respect of intelligent men and the love of little children; who has filled his niche and accomplished his task; who has left the world a better place than he found it; who has never lacked appreciation of earth's beauty or failed to express it; who has always looked for the best in others and given them the best he had; whose life was an inspiration." If there were any words in the English language 100 times as strong as 'successful', they would apply to Dad's life.

Francis put it this way: "He was like a second father to me, and a born teacher. His household was always filled with happiness and praise. Even now, every time I go skating I hear his voice behind me encouraging me and telling he how to bend in at the ankles, particularly with my left foot. Every time I play tennis, I hear him suggesting I follow through more on my forehand, and correcting my backhand grip. I also hear him telling me to honor and cherish Diane, and to pay special attention to our daughter Lauren, so that she can develop her talents. In my mind, I think of Artie whenever I think of a noble, moral or unselfish action, even if it is only driving someone home after a party late at night. He represents, to me, everything that is best and finest in human nature and in fatherhood, and is a model to which I may hope to aspire, if I am lucky."

"If it were possible, he should never have died, but his life is a constant reminder of how to live wisely, creatively, lovingly and with great respect and sensitivity to others. I have never met anyone else who had this fine combination of personal strength and goodness, and an ability to make a person from any other walk of life feel immediately comfortable and at home. His life work, both personal and scholarly, is spread out around the world in an infinite number of big and little ways, some of them almost impossible to see, but all carrying forward the best efforts of the human race to a higher level than before he had touched them. He believed in the eventual progress of mankind towards a better life, and his own life directly illustrates and justifies his belief."

Dad loved to say "I am the luckiest man on earth." We were the luckiest children.

Archives

Resources & Links

Search