Morris Goldman remembered for devotion to family and lifelong love story

Longtime Riverdale resident Morris Goldman died April 29 at 96 years old, a little less than a year after his wife, Roberta Kruh Goldman. The two left behind a legacy of unwavering love, resilience and being the grounding force that holds a family together.

Every Friday after Roberta died, Morris visited her gravesite to bring her flowers and talk with her. The high school sweethearts lived together on Independence Avenue, and were set to celebrate their 75th anniversary June 10, 2025, the day Roberta died. She was 93 years old. 

Family members said the two were deeply devoted to one another, and excited about their relationship even as the years went by.  Their grandson, Jesse Matthews, recalled one instance at a shopping plaza, where they were all browsing a chocolate store. A Frank Sinatra song started to hum over the speakers, and “the two of them just stopped everything they were doing, went hand in hand, and just started dancing,” Jesse Matthews said.

It wasn’t an isolated event. No matter where they were, they would dance together, their daughter Wendy Matthews said. She described her parents as real New Yorkers. Morris was from the Crotona Park East area and Roberta was from Bryant Avenue, often dressed in fur and pearls. While some of their interests differed, Morris more business-focused and Roberta drawn to performance arts, they were “number one to each other,” Wendy Matthews said.

After graduating from James Monroe High School in Soundview, Morris dove into the restaurant business, and had ownership stake in spots like Brooklyn National Deli at Port Authority until his death. Roberta had an affinity for Broadway, and a love for singing and dancing. Family members joked they couldn’t say a phrase without her breaking into song. She performed at the Riverdale Y until she died, and prior to that worked as a bookkeeper at a local nursing home.

At Morris’ funeral, Jesse Matthews said the family reflected on “Morrisisms,” or familiar phrases the kids and grandkids were raised on. One such phrase hinted at his work ethic: “What’s the color? The color is green.” Jesse Matthews fondly remembered getting his first job as a paper boy at 9 years old, and his grandfather quickly encouraging him to scale up the business by employing more boys and adding routes. It didn’t come from greed, but instead from the willingness to value effort and make an impact on others.

Morris and Roberta’s daughter Robin Lamoreaux remembered when she was younger, her dad worked at a sandwich shop, and would bring her with him in the early hours of the morning. Lamoreaux said “he would make me the best brisket sandwiches ever, and I would just sit with him.” She holds those moments closely, and she sees the influence of that work ethic in her own children too.

Lamoreaux talked to her dad each day at 4:30 p.m. She is now a teacher, and said even as an adult, the first question her dad would always ask was “How was school today?”

“It didn’t matter how old I was,” Lamoreaux said. “I was still his kid.”

Another Morrisism was “It’s whatever shoes you’re wearing,” a remedy when someone was upset or frustrated. Jesse Matthews said it inspired family members to be adaptable, and to understand that things can change at any point. He also saw it as a rule to not judge others, as “you can wear those same shoes someday.”

Things weren’t always easy. The couple both underwent health challenges, including in the 1980s when Morris had bypass surgery. Wendy Matthews remembered her dad walking out of the hospital in a Rocky Balboa t-shirt, to match his “Gonna Fly Now” ringtone. She made sure he was buried with a Rocky shirt underneath him.

Wendy Matthews said she knew her father wouldn’t last a year after Roberta died, a testament to their connection, she explained. He spoke often about missing her deeply. Still, he radiated energy and positivity in his final months.

Morris and Roberta were featured in a June 2025 edition of The Press, which told the story of them falling in love with one another, and the life they built together. Wendy Matthews said both of her parents were buried with a copy of the article.

Jesse Matthews said the family feels how blessed they were, and wants to hold onto the gravity that Morris and Roberta inspired by making intentional time for each other. They are determined to carry on the couple’s legacy.

“You don’t realize how precarious family unity is until you lose the sun,” Jesse Matthews said. “You all the sudden realize we’re all just planets, and without something to orbit around, planets can very easily disperse.”

Morris is survived by his daughters, Wendy Matthews, Debra Goldman and Robin Lamoreaux and their partners; her six grandchildren, Jesse and Dylan Matthews, Jack Fields, and Lauren, Shane and Megan Lamoreaux; and four great grandchildren: Kaiya, Mason, Zoey and Cody Matthews.

Dylan Matthews made a short film of his grandpa when he was in his mid 80s, titled “A Bronx Tale,” where Morris drove through the borough, stopping at spots like the first business his father bought him on East 149th Street and Timpson Place, and the first apartment he lived in with Roberta above it.

At the end, Morris says with a smile “That’s it folks. Now the new generation takes over. Good luck to them. Love them all. Rocky says ‘Bye.’”