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So long Holy Ranger

It’s kind of surreal around here this morning.  Saw Garrison Keillor last night in Tampa and he talked about life and death; old age and turning 70.  Spent time with the Baby Gator in Gainesville  the day before noting how time moves on as she nears the birth of our first grandchild.  And just learned that Marty Rosenblum died unexpectedly in Milwaukee.

Dr. Martin Jack Rosenblum

I was a motor geek growing up — bikes, cars, boats, airplanes, if it burned oil, I loved it — and I knew who Marty was before I joined Harley-Davidson; The Holy Ranger.  A figure larger than life who played music, rode Harley’s and wrote and sang about his passions.   A guy who lived to ride, rode to live.

But the Marty Rosenblum I got to know was no bad ass biker or crazy rock star.  He’d no more do something to hurt anyone’s feelings than to drop one of his beloved motorcycles or acoustic guitars.  He was a big man in a diminutive frame and he accepted you as you were.  Here was I, a “boat guy” representing Harley-Davidson to the media and the world.  His brand.  One of his loves.

Marty took me under his wing and we spent hours in the Motor Company archives.  We talked old bikes, new bikes, boats and music.  He loved sidecars.  I loved the cafe racer.  He must have been tickled to learn that I was in a junior high band named The People of Time.  I played bass and sang a little.  I was quick to admit that I had no talent, but that didn’t matter to Marty.  He was there to impart his wisdom on this youngster from Florida who had found himself in Milwaukee.

While I haven’t seen you in years, I’m going to miss you.  Thanks for being a friend.  So long Holy Ranger.


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Passion Rules!


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