Bob Brody
Bob Brody

The earth entered 2026 spinning on its axis without the marvelous Morty Matz aboard for the first time in 100 years. He died on June 25 just a few weeks before he would have turned 101. The headline on his obituary in The New York Times referred to him as a "virtuoso New York P.R. Man" Mortimer Matz, a Virtuoso New York P.R. Man, Is Dead at 100 - The New York Times.

Deservedly so. Morty masterminded the Nathan’s hot-dog eating contest in Coney Island. He came up with the concept of spreading the New York City Marathon from Manhattan only out to all five boroughs. He represented a cross-section of clients that spanned the spectrum from lawyers and real estate developers to unions and elected officials. New York governor Mario Cuomo once tried to hire him and legendary newspaper columnist Jimmy Breslin called him a friend.

Here's my posthumous letter to Mr. Matz.

Dear Morty,

What was it about you? What made you you?

All I know is what I know. So here’s what I know.

Morty Matz
Morty Matz

I worked for you from 1991 to 1994. When you hired me, you explained why. “You’re a live wire,” you said. I felt honored. You might as well have given me the Nobel Prize for Public Relations.

My first week on the job, you composed a memo about all of our clients. It was your only memo in my two-and-a-half year stint. As best I could tell, you never believed in memos. Or anything of the sort. You were the opposite of corporate.

One time, you convened a staff meeting. Your opening line? “Which clients are we failing today?” It made my day. You were a master of mischief. Such a light touch in managing an organization is priceless.

Another time, a reporter I trusted sandbagged a client of ours in Vanity Fair. I felt like a fool for getting played. You could have come down on me. But no. You shrugged it off. You cited the little good that came of it.

You also had this endearing habit. Every once in a while you would rest the side of your head against my shoulder, as if seeking comfort. I got a kick out of that. No boss of mine at any of my jobs with global PR firms ever rested his or her head against my shoulder.

You had other winning habits, too. Sometimes, if someone got into a disagreement with you, you would just say, “Okay.” That was it. Okay. Case closed. You knew how to circumvent confrontation with finesse.

Here’s an example. I was calling in sick a lot even though I was usually in good health. You wanted to address the issue of my absenteeism. So you brought up the topic with our colleague George Shea with me standing right there.

You asked George, “How many days would you say an employee should be entitled to miss in a year? Maybe 10?”

George said yeah, that sounded about right.

End of discussion. I got the message. I was probably missing more like 20 days a year. Once again, the light-fingered touch. Saying something and getting a point across without quite coming out and saying it.

Let me cite one more charming habit here. You would often call out my full name, cheerfully, on encountering me, whether in person or by phone. “Bob Brody!” you would exclaim. I felt as if you had just dubbed me a knight.

As it turned out, I left your employ at Matz Associates for another job, even though I loved it there. But for the next 31 years I never lost touch with you.

You became my friend. You complimented me on my writing. You “liked” my posts on Facebook. You especially adored the photos of my grandchildren. No other person 100 years old ever “liked” my Facebook posts.

Happily, I got the opportunity to write about you for your beloved New York Daily News, where your heart was always headquartered. A double-truck centerfold on Sunday at that.

So what made you you? All that and then some.

Others knew you better than I. But I knew all I needed to know. You showed me the ropes in PR. What you taught me I still apply today. I learned that action indeed spoke louder than even the loudest words. I also learned that every once in a while, in the thick of some friction with someone, I should just say, “Okay.”

You demonstrated a talent for friendship that I still aspire to emulate. We came to love each other, you and I, and said so in our emails to each other. I never stopped thanking you for everything you did for me, but I could never thank you enough to satisfy myself.

You were one of a kind—and, for me, larger than life. Your legacy, for me and no doubt so many others, will never be matched.

***

Bob Brody, a public relations consultant, served as a media strategist and editorial specialist at Weber Shandwick, Ogilvy Public Relations and Howard J. Rubenstein Associates after his tenure with Matz Associates. He is the author of the memoir "Playing Catch with Strangers: A Family Guy (Reluctantly) Comes of Age," and has contributed essays to The Wall Street Journal, The Washington Post and The New York Times, among other publications.