Survived By: Miriam (& Theo) Benjamin (& Breger) Kristopher (& Felix & Luca)

We regret to report the passing of our father, Mark Anton, after a long bout of strokes exacerbated by kidney disease and unmanaged diabetes. Our relationship with our father was complex. Deeply dysfunctional, he was brilliant in many ways and a disaster in others. He was born in Philly in 1943 to first generation American Russian Jews, left-wing atheists and socialists. His parents were music teachers who raised our dad and his sister in the Bronx with little money and a deep respect for music and art. Our dad was suspicious of all organized systems: religion, politics and formal education, yet he provided his kids with private schools and access to culture and museums, travel and offbeat alternative experiences. Music was his passion and the one constant in his life. My memories include a childhood of falling asleep at cozy smokey venues, or crouched on steps at city street fairs and countryside festivals, under the watchful eye of his friends, while his band played blues, rock, bluegrass and folk covers. He had a collection of crazy-colorful, wonderfully eclectic, and truly good hearted people in his life. Though emotionally unavailable to those closest to him, his charismatic charms, and the twinkle in his eye got him far in this world. He was a self made entrepreneur and his business thrived in the late 1970’s and 80’s until it didn’t. Divorced two times by then (there would be many girlfriends, two more wives and no more kids to follow) My brothers and I were granted time with him on weekends and vacations. Through our formative years at his place on E. 86th Street, summers on the sailboats in Three Mile Harbor East Hampton, countless trips to Negril and a few to Europe…the endless hours on the Jersey Turnpike and the L.I.E. always with a steady stream of music along the way. Sailing on Long Island Sound and Gardener’s Bay, the boat on autopilot, his guitar or banjo always in tow, strumming and singing, singing and strumming…he gave us so little and so much all at once. Our father’s disdain for US politics drew him to offshore locations, years living in Antigua and finally Costa Rica where he gained residency in his final decade of life. So now we are here, the three of us with his ashes, and his most recent closest friend - a grand-statured, warm and generous soul with an infectious bellowing chuckle who understood our father’s character and quirks. This friend is guiding us kids through a labyrinth of Latin American legalities and messy leftover matters, typical to our father’s way. But we are with him now, and most importantly, with each other. Dad left us his legacy of twisted humor and I have laughed with my brothers harder than I have with anybody else; a special all-encompassing laughter that only siblings know. We will play the six hours (and growing!) list of songs we pulled together for him on Spotify..we’ll play it as we drive with his ashes to the sea in the warm Costa Rican rain. And we’ll sing as loud as we can to the soundtrack of our father and of our youth…John Prine, Bob Dylan, Jimmy Cliff, David Bromberg, Linda Ronstadt, Arlo Guthrie, Cat Steven’s, Phil Ochs, Buddy Holly, Ralph Stanley, Simon & Garfunkel, CSN, the Stones, the Dead, the Band..the list goes on..so many miles of strumming and singing on the turnpike and on the sea…So long Dad, and thank you for the music ❤️ #puravida. (from Miriam's Facebook)