Steven Mark London

Steve London, a pharmacist, businessman, father and grandfather whose lifelong web of friendships stretched from nursery school to college dorms to hospital corridors, died unexpectedly April 25 at his Pompano Beach home at age 75.

A native of Eastchester, N.Y., Mr. London grew up in a three-story house in the heart of town, surrounded by cousins who felt more like siblings. Friends say his childhood home — full of aunts, uncles, cousins and commotion — helped shape the open-minded, easygoing man he became.

“He always talked about how much he loved growing up with all his cousins going in and out all the time,” said longtime friend Ken McLaughlin. “It was controlled chaos — and he thought it was great.”

Mr. London’s oldest friend, Bobby Rothman, met him when they were both toddlers. “Our parents had gotten together in the area, and when I got to nursery school, I said, ‘Oh, there’s Steve,’’’ Rothman recalled. “Either he threw a block at me, or I threw a block at him. That’s the way our friendship started.”

They remained good friends for more than seven decades, and they both became pharmacists. “Steve always had a lot of friends because he always made everybody feel so welcome,” Rothman said.

At Eastchester High School, Mr. London met Nancy Metropolski, who became his wife shortly after they finished college. The couple later settled in Redding, Conn., where they raised their two children, Tracey Elise and Robert.

Mr. London earned a bachelor’s degree in history from SUNY Albany, where in the fall of 1969 he met several friends who remained close to him for the rest of his life: Ken McLaughlin, Paul Weissman, Mark Jensen and Norm Tipton.

The Albany years were filled with road trips, business schemes and dozens of wild and crazy stories that only improved with age.

One tale involved a monkey Mr. London briefly kept in his dorm closet, which was lined with chicken wire. Another was about a car accident that occurred after he handed the steering wheel to McLaughlin while hunting for toll money on the New York State Thruway.

“When we were still young, he always reminded me how I wrecked his MG,” McLaughlin said. “I would always say, ‘Steve, you took your hands off the steering wheel and I was scrunched up in that tiny back seat and had to steer with one hand!’ In any case, he eventually forgave me and it was always good for a laugh.”

Mr. London later graduated at the top of his class from St. John’s University with a degree in pharmacy. He worked at Norwalk, Griffin and Danbury hospitals in western Connecticut and once took a break from his profession to run his father’s store, London Floors, in downtown Eastchester.

His son and daughter say their father did not want a formal service, so a small group of Mr. London’s friends asked Tracey and Rob to join their weekly Zoom session to celebrate the life of a man described as intelligent, funny and entrepreneurial, forever chasing an idea for a business.

Weissman recalled one plan to sell carpet remnants under the name “Rugs Cheap” that took them to Dalton, Georgia — the Carpet Capital of the World — to buy some rugs wholesale.

“Our first day out, we sold three remnants up in Yonkers, and we thought we were going to be a great success." Weissman recalled. “But needless to say, we never sold another one.”

But a couple of decades later they did put together a successful venture selling toilets and urinals to the communists in Vietnam.

The stories and jokes during the Zoom session inevitably circled back to taking a measure of Mr. London’s character.

“Steve was really one of the most decent people I’ve ever known,” Weissman said. “Very fair, very kind, always supportive. I could talk to him about anything, and he would just listen. He would also always do me a favor if I needed one. There was no edge to Steve. No competitiveness or ego. He was just a really good guy.”

“Yeah,” Tipton said. “He was a quiet, gentle soul.”

“Steve may have been the original chill,” said Lenore Weintraub Klein, another SUNY Albany friend. “He was usually smiling — with an undertone of irony — as if somehow he knew the answers to life’s most elusive mysteries. He was the first person I knew who dabbled with practicing transcendental meditation while downing Boone’s Farm apple wine. He was a great, generous and fun-loving man who was sooo easy to hang out with. He will be missed.”

Beneath that easy going personality, however, was someone who had learned early how to stand up for himself.

Mike London recalled the numerous fights his younger brother would get into on the mean streets of Eastchester.

The scuffles usually started when some teenage hood targeted Steve for being Jewish. “It was very common in those days,” Mike said. “It happened to me many times. The only difference was Steve usually won.”

Scott London remembered his older brother’s integrity. “We will never forget how honest and straightforward he was,” he said.

Edmond Leung, a fellow pharmacist who worked with Mr. London for a decade and a half at Norwalk Hospital, said his friend had a knack for making difficult encounters more manageable.

“He brought joy to any situation,” Leung said. “He was always up for a good time, and his hijinks were legendary. His life will live on in all of us who came to know him.”

His daughter said one of the defining facts of her father’s life was his gift for keeping friends — from preschool, high school, college and work. “I don’t know too many people who live kind of a cloistered lifestyle and are on the phone all the time,” Tracey said. “He was sort of like a teenager in perpetuity.”

His son said his father loved his retirement years in South Florida. “He was so content here,” Rob said. “He didn’t have to work anymore. He didn’t have to answer to anybody. There was no snow to shovel, no house to take care of. It was just beautiful.”

Mr. London often spoke with pride about Rob’s two children — Kavi and Tulsi — and delighted in passing on videos and photos of them to his friends. But he himself disliked fuss, posed awkwardly for pictures and preferred understatement.

Rob’s wife, Kanmani Venkateswaran, said what struck her the most about her father-in-law was his lack of pretension. “I’ve just never met anyone who had absolutely no airs,” she said. “You could tell him the strangest thing, and he was not judgmental. He was very live and let live.”

Tracey’s partner, Brad Flint, agreed. When first learning about Brad, her dad’s words were: “He went to college. He likes the Doobie Brothers. Can’t beat that.”

The Zoom group ended the session by hoisting their coffee cups and glasses in a toast.

"Here’s to our wonderful friend with perfect teeth and no gray hair. What a combination for a 75-year-old!” quipped Jensen. “Sorry you left us so soon."

“Rest in peace, my brother,” Tipton added. “We’ll see you on the other side.”

In addition to his daughter, Tracey Elise, and her partner, Brad Flint; Mr. London’s son, Rob, and his wife, Kanmani Venkateswaran, and their children, Kavi and Tulsi, Mr. London is survived by his two brothers, Mike and Scott, and Mike’s wife, Corky; cousins Stu London, Don London, Paul London, Randi London Leder, Steve Singer and Meredith Singer; numerous nieces and nephews; and enough lifelong friends to fill the heartbreaking silence he leaves behind. Mr. London was preceded in death by his parents, Dave and Edna London; his wife, Nancy; and close friends Marc Diamond and Richie Clayton.