Elliott passed away on November 11, 2021. Heartfelt condolences and warm thoughts to the Delman family.

Donations to: Multiple Myeloma Research Foundation

Obituary, Memories, and Condolences

~Maddy Tarnofsky

The Day the (Southside) Music Died--But Not Really

Class of '65, we are in the third act. For some of us, act three has opened almost imperceptibly--a few new grey hairs, a few new pounds, a creaky joint here or there. But nothing Southsiders cannot handle with acceptance and humor. Some of us have not been so lucky and have faced challenges far beyond a balding pate or a wobbly denture--the kind of challenges that must be met with extraordinary courage Even thenand strength. Elliott had what it took.

Two things immediately spring to mind when I think of Jeffrey Manor's Elliott Delman--Mrs. Gejas and the Beatles. "Mrs. Gejas and The Beatles" --that reads like some kind of 60's technicolor comedy aimed at our high school selves. It goes something like this: Stoned face high school Spanish teacher who poo-poos the British invasion (not the Redcoats-the mop-tops), is somehow hired to teach John, Paul, George and Ringo to sing "I Am the Walrus" in Spanish for their upcoming Madrid concert. Hilarity and great music ensue when Elliott, Mrs. Gejas's guitar-playing madcap star pupil, passes himself off as the band's Spanish speaking roadie. He and Mrs.G. fly off with our boys to Spain. When the lads discover that Elliott is not only fluent in Spanish, but an accomplished musician as well, they invite our Elliott to join them on stage for a rousing rendition of "Ella Te Ama" ("She Loves You". Were you not paying attention in Mrs. Gejas's class?).

Elliott would have loved my fantasy, not just because he was the star of the wacky story. He was in Mrs. G's Honors Spanish class (so was I, until I wasn't ) and was a star from day one. By mid-semester, I was amazed at the easy way Elliott chatted away in Spanish with the beaming Mrs. G, as if he had been born and bred on the Southside of Barcelona. He was so skilled and learned the language so quickly. Later in life, his passion for the language would serve him and his students well.

I didn't share that skill or passion. But there was a passion Elliott and I did share--for the Beatles. In fact, I can state, with great humility, that Elliott and I were the first at Bowen to declare our love for the band after their first appearance on the Ed Sullivan show. Well...that could be true...See, Elliott and I were friendly, but not yet friends. That changed after February 4, 1964, the night of the performance that impacted America, and my relationship with Elliott. That night, Elliott and I fell in love. Not with each other, but with the Beatles Our love for the greatest band of all time was the catalyst that brought Elliott and I together. We memorized every song on every album as each one was released. We would sing together along with a car radio, or on my front stoop, or just anywhere at all. Sometimes Howard Cohen sang with us. You too, Fred Berger, if memory serves. And Michael Schwartz. Those were joyous moments. Elliott sang with the same energy and commitment ( yes, a singer must commit to a lyric ) that he displayed in Mrs. Gejas's Spanish class. At times, Elliott would put on a Liverpudlian accent. He went all the way, and sported Lennon glasses and cap. And me in white go-go boots. Oy

I am certain that it was Elliott's connection to and love of the Beatles that led him to a life in music. I like to think our song fests had something to do with it. Even then, he had an unmistakable talent. Although I lived three blocks from John Lennon for many years, I never met him in the neighborhood. But Elliott has met him. And George. If I close my eyes I can see them now. John and George, sitting in a little glowing part of heaven, or wherever geniuses go. Here comes Elliott, rounding the corner, strolling towards them, guitar in hand. They are thrilled to see their Spanish-speaking roadie. Elliott starts strumming and singing "Quiero Cogerte De La Mano". The lads join in...Elliott is happy. The rest of us must let it be.

~Howard Cohen

Remembering Elliott

I will try to keep this brief. Today, I only recall getting to know Elliott when we started at Bowen. We both were outliers with very late starts that first year. So I would walk to his house and either his parents would drive us or we would walk. Seems like they drove us more. And of course, I remember him in Spanish with Mrs. Gekas. Seems like he was the one that stuck swear words in his Spanish notebook just to prove she didn’t read them.

Here’s what I remember about college which may not be completely correct in terms of the timeline.

I don’t think he started at the U of Illinois right after high school, but he was our fourth roommate, I think in our 2^nd or 3^rd year at 404 E. Stoughton. Fred Berger, a friend from Waukegan, Elliott and I lived together there. We put a curtain up in one bedroom to split it in half and Elliott and shared that one.

Fred moved out the next year and lived alone in a small house in Urbana. When he graduated, I think Elliott and I took over the next year. He was playing his guitar and singing and writing a few songs by then. He played sometimes at a place called the Red Herring in the Channy Murray Foundation which was church just off the quadrangle. He was already very talented of course and we thought he was remarkable. He was also a remarkably fluent Spanish speaker.

Here’s one story from that time. In the fall of 1968, I was back from my cheap university summer travel to Europe. I had met some women there who lived in New York City. So, one weekend we decided we would drive Elliott’s VW Bug from Urbana to NYC to see them and back. My girlfriend, Elliott, and me. It was a bit crowded in the car and stick shift, which I had never driven. None of us had ever been. We left on Friday, got there on Saturday, met up with the two women and, even though I don’t remember any specific things we did, we had a wonderful weekend. Driving the bug, with the engine in the back, seemed a bit treacherous, as I remember it, and especially at night, as the bug was blown around whenever a big semi passed us. And while we were there, someone stole the radio from the car. We were back in Urbana by Monday morning.

After I left Urbana, I only saw him again sporadically when I was down for visits and while he was still there, I think in graduate school. Like all of us though, I’ve kept track of his music career and other life events. Even though I didn’t see him, I will certainly miss having him in the world.

~Randy Sherow



Sadly, loss is part of life. It's the difficult part of life that brings with it recollection and reminiscence of some of the more important events of the days of our lives. Times both good and bad, happy and sad. This is such a time.

I didn't meet Elliott until we got to Bowen, and even during our first two plus years we were only close enough to acknowledge one another in passing in the halls. Then we were both brought into the brotherhood of Achates, a social club that participated in a yearly musical production and competition, designated as "The Sing", amongst all of the Bowen and South Shore 'fraternities'. I don't remember how it ever came to be, because I had no musical ability and still can't read music or play a musical instrument other than the kazoo, but I became the Achates' Sing Leader. And there was Elliott ready, willing, and able to write lyrics and construct harmonies. I don't remember from where our choreography came, but I was merely the conduit through which it all came together. We decided that our theme would be "Time" and I was dressed as Father Time and we sang of the value, importance, and brevity of time. Elliott and I worked nonstop, side-by-side, for many months preparing ourselves, and our fraternity brothers, for the Sing, which was held at McCormick Place, during our senior year. He always needed a glass of milk on his desk while he was working and that became a life long joke between us, especially after the "Got Milk" campaign and ads hit the airwaves. A few years ago, Elliott sent me a picture of himself with a milk mustache as big as any mustache Groucho Marx ever sported.

Then high school ended and Elliott and I, along with a few other Bowenites ended up at Northern Illinois University. Elliott had taken four years of Spanish at Bowen and was taking some more advanced Spanish language classes in college. I had taken two years of French in high school, which I disliked immensely, so I decided to take Spanish at Northern. So there was only one resource to whom I could turn for help in practicing my budding language skill and he was more than willing to help. Not only did I spend many evenings in his dorm room, at the newly constructed Grant Hall on Northern's campus speaking Spanish, but Elliott's guitar was always nearby waiting to be strummed causing voices to raise in song. How could those two young men have had any idea that those few years would form the basis of a life time writing and performing music and teaching Spanish and English. While I was there for the formative years, there were so very many after that when my friend and I had very little contact while raising families and experiencing the slings and arrows of, what was on occasion, outrageous fortune.

After leaving Chicago in 1975 for warmer climes, I only saw Elliott occasionally over the years during visits to Chicago to see family and friends. But, thanks to Al Gore and his internet, along with Bill Gates and his computers, Elliott and I were able to reconnect and exchange pictures and missives on occasion. I was looking forward to seeing Elliott during our 50th Bowen reunion but, most unfortunately, Multiple Myeloma put him in Northwestern's hospital at that time. Since the hospital was only a few blocks from the Sheraton where we Bowenites had come together, I called him and was granted an audience in his room on the locked ward to which free access was denied. We had a joyous reunion and laughed, spoke a very little bit of the Spanish that I remembered, and sang songs from our Sing presentation. Then he tired and needed to rest. I told him that I would look forward to seeing him on the internet and at my next visit to Chicago. I returned to Chicago several years ago and made arrangements to have a Pizza Party with six or eight other Bowen alumni. Elliott looked forward to joining the group. But, as occasionally happened to him during this long fight with cancer, he developed some kind of untoward infection which took him to the ER and he was forced to miss the party. I was, as I know he was, as well, disappointed but we agreed to keep in touch, as always, on the internet. A few months ago Elliott arranged a Zoom meeting and some of us old farts got together to talk and laugh. Since I had never 'Zoomed' before, Elliott called me and set up a one-on-one tutorial so that I'd be prepared to join and participate in the conference. As with his Spanish tutoring which earned me an 'A', I flawlessly joined and participated in the Zoom meeting. That was the last time that I saw him. In the months following that meeting, we exchanged several notes, but then my notes began to go unanswered and I feared the worst. Most often your worst fears are baseless. Sometimes they're not. I love you, Elliott, and will miss you always.

~Marc Pullman

Elliott was one of the wittiest and most creative persons I knew. My favorite class at Bowen was public speaking taught by Mr. Subek. I had a rough idea for my project that was coming up and asked Elliott for help. Without hesitation, he served up a perfect opening grabber and some great content.

Elliott was a natural entertainer. During our senior year varsity/faculty basketball game, he impersonated coach Costello to perfection. He was also game for a good prank. As the sports writer for the Bowen Arrow under the column “Dabbling with Delman,” he once wrote “Marc Pullman asked me to mention his name but I told him I wouldn’t.” In college, I asked him to prank a friend who was at best a bad guitar player. I told the friend that Elliott was considering taking music lessons but was uncertain about what instrument to pick. As a favor, would the friend mind showing Elliott how to hold a guitar and work the strings? So there we were, sitting in the friend’s dorm room with him showing Elliott how to play a basic note. Elliott struggled but on his third try he ran off a Jimmy Hendrix style riff that shook the room. Enjoying the look of shock on the friend’s face, I simply said “Wow, you’re a great teacher!”

One of the few times my teenage son thought I was cool occurred during his senior year in high school. If he could find a business that would accept him as an intern, the school would give him credit toward graduation without having to attend class. Since Jeremy was an aspiring guitar player, I reached out to Elliott, who had his own recording studio in Evanston. He referred me to a talent agency which, as a favor to Elliott, agreed to accept Jeremy as an intern. It was a match made in heaven. At that time, the agency had a national account that was one of the sponsor’s of the upcoming Super Bowl game. The agency was working on jingoes for the commercials and Jeremy was allowed to jam with the professional musicians. Thanks to Elliott, it was an extraordinary experience that brought a lot of joy to a high school kid and fueled his passion for the guitar, which he continues to this day.

Over the years I enjoyed seeing Elliott periodically at class reunions and sometimes when he was performing professionally. He was a truly wonderful guy who touched so many of us in a positive way. He will be sorely missed.

~Steven M. Goldberg

I can't remember time spent with Elliott without music and joy. I remember when several of us went to see West Side Story at the Avalon Theater with Elliott (and Madeline Tarnofsky), singing and dancing the score in the street after the movie.

I remember so many Friday nights-during high school, but I think also in the summers when we were in college-driving with Howie cohen and Elliott to Rush Street for pizza at Unos, our perpetual hope to find women, and in the summer of 1996, hearing Eleanor Rigby for the first time.

My mother adored Elliott, her conversations with him, Elliott kidding her about...whatever.

And I remember visiting him in Chicago after his divorce, which was so hard for him and his focus on maintaining his relationship with his daughter. I was amazed and so pleased that he was performing music in Europe, writing music for corporate shows. (What, serving capitalism? Oh, well).

I love, still, listening to his music; it feels as if he is near me. The pain I feel from his death is, of course, proportionate to the love and affection I had, that all who knew him had for Elliott.