Peter Martin Sussman's Obituary
Peter Sussman, a man known for his inquisitive and often humorous attitude towards life and death, passed from this Earthly realm into the Great Beyond on Friday, June 24, 2022, at the age of 81. He died at home while enjoying what had been his favorite hobby since retirement: watching movies and TV shows from his massive DVD collection, always seemingly with an aim toward gaining a greater understanding of our world and the human experience.
Peter was the sort of fellow who when asked the often-meaningless question, “How are you doing?” would always reply with a jovial, “Can’t complain,” as if to brush off any laments he may have had as being not necessary of much discussion, lest they become reasons for him to wallow in needless negativity. He may not have always been inwardly optimistic, yet he seemed to actively strive to embody an external spirit that looked upon life’s trials and tribulations with stoicism, good humor, sarcasm, and sometimes a touch of the absurd.
Born in Brooklyn, NY, on January 22, 1941, Peter’s childhood took place in an era when young kids often played in the streets all day without supervision; in his later years, he would sometimes remark with a sense of nostalgia about how kids don’t play outside like that anymore. He lived all his formative years in New York City, and attended what was then called Brooklyn College, graduating with a bachelor’s degree in Classical Civilizations. Given his passion for history and ancient societies, his family is certain that Peter could have been a kick-ass archeologist like Indiana Jones; he was equally as smart, witty, and charismatic. But that was not to be his destiny.
Rather, Peter fell in love. One night out at a singles bar in NYC, his life would change forever when he bumped into a young nursing student from Boston named Ellen. Soon enough they would be married, and on the path to starting their own family. Not long before the birth of their first son, Peter and Ellen decided to leave behind the hustle-and-bustle of the City, relocating to the much quieter pastures of what was then still a rural area of central New Jersey. Along with many other ex-New Yorkers, they settled into a new townhouse in Twin Rivers, a neighborhood that is historically recognized as New Jersey’s first planned unit development. It was the kind of place that used to host frequent block parties, back in the 1970s when the neighbors all knew one another. And it was there that the Sussman family – Dad, Mom, and in turn their two sons – would call home for over 30 years, from the ‘70s until Peter’s retirement and move to Florida in the early 2000s.
After settling in New Jersey, Peter would go on to have a long career as a computer systems analyst; he was a sort-of pioneer in an age well before the rise of the internet, when most computers were large mainframe types that occupied entire rooms and ran software on punch-cards and magnetic tape. Peter was the kind of guy who would happily display a mug on his desk proclaiming, “Programmers Do It In COBOL.” Although his family remembers him often complaining loudly about the crappy bosses he was seemingly cursed to always be working under, he nevertheless clearly enjoyed and took great pride in the actual tasks he performed: designing, analyzing, and troubleshooting software systems for various mid-level companies, none of which are still in business. In the later years of his career, he worked as a consultant, a role he found to be more palatable than being a company man, because it meant he didn’t have to work long enough at any one client to be bothered much by pointy-headed bosses with poor management skills.
Peter would remain ever-faithful to his wife and children, and he seemed to take particular satisfaction in raising his kids to be self-sufficient free thinkers and healthy skeptics, who value learning and who are not afraid to question reality and become iconoclastic if necessary. As a father, he always made sure his children were provided with plenty of experiences and activities to explore. There were countless trips to museums, zoos and aquariums, historical sites, tourist traps, and the like; seasons passes to Six Flags amusement park; and tickets to summer musicals at the Bucks County Playhouse in New Hope, PA. He encouraged his sons to explore a variety of different interests by enabling them to participate in sports lessons, arts-and-crafts classes, computer camps, and such. He taught them useful and cool skills such as how to change a tire and how to drive a stick-shift car. He was fortunate enough to be able to provide for both of his sons to attend college debt-free, and he was proud to have lived long enough to see what they would do with their earned degrees: one becoming a successful self-made business owner, and the other who would later in life coincidentally follow in his father’s footsteps by also having a career as a systems analyst (thankfully with better bosses.)
Peter was the type of man who was always available to dispense advice to his family, and chief among the maxims he often told to his sons was to “trust no one,” not even him as a father. But far from being a paranoid expression of fear or an excuse to be rude to other people, what he really meant was that we should not just blindly accept the way things are; we should be willing to question authority, and we should put our faith in no one but our own selves. We should not be lulled into following those who would lead us down a road to ruin. Peter would later in life amend his advice to instead be, “trust, but verify,” which is a well-known quote by Ronald Reagan from when he was president (not that Peter particularly approved of Reagan’s presidency; ahem.) And while this revision to Peter’s advice does perhaps come across as being a bit less absolutist, it also points to his ultimate desire for wanting us to give all people the benefit of the doubt, and to allow them to prove themselves by their words and actions, not just assuming that everyone is inherently untrustworthy. His children have found in their lives that this is actually pretty good advice.
Some say you can get to know a man by his hobbies; if so, Peter’s interests define him as a complex and nuanced soul, with many eclectic facets. In no particular order, some of his favorite amusements in life were: Buffy the Vampire Slayer; Dilbert comics; playing Solitaire on his PC (no other games, just Solitaire); displaying statues of dragons and other fantastic creatures; all of the CSI shows; Time and Consumer Reports magazines; Tarzan novels; black cats; collecting DVDs, even long after his sons told him they were obsolete (Peter was proud to call himself a “dinosaur”); planting succulents; the “F-word”; fantasy and science fiction stories; Aleister Crowley; classical music and operas; the TV series Mom and The Big Bang Theory; questioning authority and the status quo; all of the Marvel movies, and pretty much every other superhero movie as well; sharpening his kitchen knives; T-shirts with wolves on them; large scary monsters like Godzilla; military history; the number 666; local newspapers; supernatural beings (except zombies, not so much); nature documentaries; and writing paper checks to pay his bills rather than using the internet (because again, he was a proud “dinosaur.”)
His family is certain Peter would have been proud to know that one of his sons was skilled enough to author this tribute, rather than it being written by some stranger with no intimate knowledge of or connection to a sometimes inscrutable man who didn’t like to brag or seek attention, and who kept a lot of his past to himself, yet whose varied interests and lifelong passion for learning would actually reveal him to be a uniquely authentic spirit bursting with deep thought, careful wit, and pithy philosophical evocations.
In keeping with his eccentric ways, Peter’s last will and testament stipulates that his body be cremated, that there be no gravesite marker or elaborate funeral service, and that his ashes be scattered by his surviving family in whatever manner they see fit. He seemed to believe that the memory of his existence should be carried on in the hearts and minds of the people who are still alive to remember him, not be tied to a specific location where people who knew him would feel obligated to visit just to mourn a corpse in the ground. However, he did once say to his family that if a Viking funeral be possible (complete with his ashes on a boat set ablaze,) he would most-of-all like this method to be his final send-off to the lands beyond death.
Peter is survived by his wife for more than 50 years, Ellen, and his two sons, David and Darren, as well as two grandchildren and two black cats. In lieu of flowers or other maudlin trinkets, those who wish to honor the memory of Peter’s time on this Earth may do so by planting a tree (or perhaps better yet, a succulent,) or by donating to a good cause like shelters for unwanted black cats, or by otherwise simply trying to make this world a better place by embracing a progressive, optimistic attitude that cares about maintaining and expanding rights for all peoples, not taking them away. He would have approved living in a world like that.
Oh, and the next time someone asks you, “How are you doing?” remember to reply as Peter always would: “Eh, can’t complain.”
What’s your fondest memory of Peter?
What’s a lesson you learned from Peter?
Share a story where Peter's kindness touched your heart.
Describe a day with Peter you’ll never forget.
How did Peter make you smile?