Here is Jonathan Schneer's personal reminiscence of Marc Sullivan, which he has allowed me to post here:

Some Memories of Marc Sullivan and Music


Marc Sullivan was my best friend when we were kids. He lived three floors above me in Manhattan in New York City. We were in and out of each other's apartments practically every day. His parents and my parents were friends.   

We both got guitars aged nine (in 1957). We learned to play simultaneously, on cheap instruments with nylon strings. We listened all the time to records of the Weavers and Pete Seeger (our parents knew them), and tried to imitate them. We went to different schools, but after school we would get together and play guitars and sing in harmony, almost every day. We subscribed to a folk music journal called "Sing Out."

Marc had more talent than I. He had perfect pitch. He could find unlikely harmonies that made me sit up even then. We used to give "concerts," inviting the friends and neighbors of our parents, setting up chairs in the living room of my parents' apartment. Marc would type out a "program," and make copies with carbon paper. We claimed to be brothers.

Marc's father knew Pete Seeger particularly well. Pete was Marc's hero (mine too). Marc got a five-string banjo like Pete. He was really good on it age, now, maybe eleven. Pete would visit Marc's parents. Out would come Marc's guitar and banjo. They would sing and play together. Marc's mother complained to my mother: "They were singing in the kitchen at the top of their voices at nine o'clock in the morning."

Marc's parents also knew Woody Guthrie and his family. Marc would visit and come back and tell me about how sick Woody Guthrie had become. I think Marc went to the same school (it was called the Downtown Community School) as Woody's son, Arlo, but I am not sure about that. Anyway one summer during these years Marc went to a music summer camp (called Indian Hill I think). He formed a trio with two other campers: Arlo Guthrie and Christopher Guest. They called themselves the Beavers – after the Weavers. He wanted me to join the group too. Unfortunately – or perhaps fortunately for everybody else if not for me, as I think on it now – I never did. Anyway, one of the counselors at the camp was a tall young woman with long black hair. That winter she gave a concert at Carnegie Hall that we attended. Afterwards we went back stage. Joan Baez gave Marc a big hug. She said to me: "Your friend taught me to play the banjo at Indian Hill last summer."

In 1962 Marc's parents left NYC and moved to London. I spent a month with them during the summer of 1963. I didn't bring my guitar, but rather a baseball bat. Nevertheless we spent a lot of time making music. Marc's father taped us on one of the old reel-to-reel machines of that day. I still have one of those tapes and, sparked by these memories, recently pulled it out and borrowed a friend's antique machine and played it. We sang: "Where have all the flowers gone?" with Marc's sister, in three-part harmony.

I saw Marc again in the summer of 1968.   He was greatly changed. The mental illness that would color the rest of his life had manifested. From then on he never really was the same, at least when I saw him. I know that he had some dealings with Paul Simon (I think he would open for him on a tour sometime during this period); I know he had some dealings too with Donovan (possibly in California). But it seemed to me that now something separated Marc from everyone and everything else; it was as though he was paying attention to the everyday world with only part of his mind, while another part was occupied with things that none of us could sense. I would see him every few years when I came to London during the 1970s and early '80s and this never changed. Except, sometimes when he was playing the guitar I thought he devoted his full attention to that.

His illness came in cycles that went something like this: it would strike and Marc could no longer function. Medicines would make him feel better. He would begin to play again. Soon he would feel well enough to perform in public. Things would go well. He would quit the medicines. Then the illness would strike again and the whole miserable business would repeat.   I think eventually he decided that the stress of performing in public exacerbated the disease and so he quit.

We lost touch in about 1984. About three years ago I decided to try to find him. I had lost his address and other addresses that would have been helpful. It took more than a year but eventually I made contact with his mother and sister. From them I learned that Marc had died of acute myeloid leukemia on May 1, 2010. My search had begun just at about the time my old friend learned he had this fatal disease. I very much hope that these reminiscences are interesting to people who want to know more about Marc and his music.

Rest in peace, Marc.


Jonathan Schneer
Atlanta, GA
October 27, 2012