Here's the eulogy I gave at Mark's funeral:

When I was growing up, I knew Mark as the kind uncle who seemed to know everything.

His brain worked differently from everyone else's. He had total recall, and he could discuss any topic intelligently—from Clinton's philanderings to Descartes Meditations.
 
About 5 years ago, I became interested in politics and philosophy, and that's when my conversations with Mark really began to bloom. 
During family gatherings, dinners became totally dominated by our back and forth, and I'm not sure everyone else was having as much fun as we were.

I learned a lot talking to Mark in these conversations. How to have an intellectual discussion, how to disagree respectfully, and most of all: how to speak like a mature grownup.

You see, Mark was a master at all these things, and if I could be half as good as he was, I'll consider that a success.

When Mark and Monika moved to Florida in 2015, our conversations became less frequent. But when we did get together, we made up for lost time.  

It was also around this time that Mark's health began to seriously decline.  We didn't know it at the time, but Mark was suffering from a rare genetic disorder called familial amyloidosis. The condition compromised the function of his heart, and it's eventually what took Mark away from us.

One thing that struck me in our final phone conversations was Mark's refusal to be cowed by this devastating illness. He stayed strong, stoic, lucid, clear, and even optimistic throughout the ordeal. It was incredible.

I remember one point he made to me during one of our last talks, and that was: of all the things that matter in life, the thing that matters the most is the time you spend with your family and your friends.

That's what Mark really cared about. He cared about us. And we're sure going to miss him.

Who needed a Loeb Classical library? We had Marcus Aureliius Stanton. Ave' atque vale, my brother.

Monika...we've not met...I've not seen nor spoken with Mark for years, decades really.  We were Prep mates.  College as well.  
Yet my memory of him is clear and unblurred by time's passing.
I see a smile.  Many smiles.  Brows beginning to arch.  Eyes twinkling.   
Laughter.
I recall the intellect, the wit.  And kindness.
Always kindness.
Just one example...
We were Greek class compatriots.   Benevolently but strictly tutored by Fr. Moan at the Prep and an accomplished, though eccentric, professor in college.  
We were a small class, eight or so, a few of us less than responsible scholars.  More into pranks, skipping classes and doing plays.  Instead of homework, we'd often try to wing it in class by relying on precarious 'sight translation' skills.  Our professor endured this for a time, teeth grinding, because we, often pulled it off.
You see, we had a secret weapon.  
Mark.
Near term's end...inevitably...as Vesuvius probably smoldered and finally erupted, our professor exploded.  Posting a letter on the Classics Department door.  Stating although we ne'er-do-wells may plan on "careers in the theatrical profession", it was no excuse for shirking academic responsibilities.  He went on to write it was totally unacceptable to be seen day after day "lounging about the campus like Satyrs, throwing dirt and twigs at each other".   
Adding that if we intended to continue getting by "checking with Mr. Stanton five minutes before class" we were sorely  mistaken.   
Well, this professor may have known Sophocles and Euripides....but not Mark.  
Who was always there clueing us in on what needed to be done.
To help us prep.  Quickly.
Frowning or squinting if we veered too off course in our 'winging'.
Even inviting our panicked selves to his home for finals coaching.
Always a bemused smile, twinkle in his eyes.
The kindness.
"...elements so mixed in him that 
 Nature might stand up
 And say to all the world,
 This was a man."
Deepest condolences.




Monika, we echo Mary Edith's and Joe's regard for the fullness you brought to Mark's life.  You and he struck us as great gifts to one another.  

Ironic that the book Frank intended to return to Mark next time we met is called "Snobbery"; he was the most modest man, with the least reason to be, that we knew.  Yet it's clear to all who knew him that Mark lived a rich life indeed, an unusually examined one, at depths of knowing and judgment and keen esthetic pleasure given to few.  

Our constellation of close friends is modest, too, and now has lost a special light.  We'll miss you, old pal.

Mark and I, along with many others including Ed Gough, rejoiced in the study of Greek and the mastery of the mi verbs at St. Joseph’s Prep in Philadelphia. Mark and I went on to St. Joseph’s College (now University). We were in many of the same classes. We discovered that we had many common interests: theater, film, philosophy and left-wing causes. I fondly recall many evenings at the old Band Box cinema in Germantown as we watched Fred and Ginger, Orson Welles, and Liv Ullmann. Mark introduced me to musicals of Busby Berkeley and the expressionism of Fritz Lang. I was not with him when he saw “A Man and a Woman,” a film that he reviewed very negatively in the student newspaper. He was especially scathing about the irritating music by composer Francis Lai who died on November 7. Mark transferred out of St. Joseph’s and our paths diverged. I last saw him at Frank Dineen’s 60th birthday party, eleven years ago. Yes, we had aged since our last contact but, for him at least, his intellectual curiosity and his overall kindness remained the same. I shall pray for him and his family.
Thomas M. McCoog, S.J.

So very sorry to hear of Mark's untimely passing. He was a wonderful man, thoughtful and unassuming, a lively conversationalist and great person. Ed, in particular, has so many fond memories stretching all the way back to high school. Mark was a valued friend and member of our broader extended family circle. He and Monika were honored guests at both our son's and our daughter's weddings years ago, two special events made even more special by their presence. Monika, all our thoughts and prayers are with you at this difficult time.  

Joe and I  grieve with and for you.  Monika, you brought Mark so much love and joy.  He loved you more than words can express.  Joe, Peter, Chris and Brian, I am so very sorry for your loss.  Lux perpetua luceat ei.

Memorial Service

Mark was preceded in death by his parents, Joseph (1996) and Catherine (2012). He is survived by his wife of 23 years, Monika, siblings Peter (and his wife, Christine,) and Joe, nephew Brian, along with a large extended family and numerous friends.

OBITUARIO

Mark W. Stanton

1 mayo, 1947 – 10 noviembre, 2018

Blount & Curry Life Event Center

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