Randolph Smith, a journalist turned marketing executive, and athlete, dies at 66

Randolph Betts Smith, 66, of East Falls, a journalist who became a marketing executive in Philadelphia, died Friday, Aug. 21, of complications from a heart arrhythmia at Penn Presbyterian Medical Center.

Known as “Randy,” he was the husband of Virginia A. Smith, who was an Inquirer reporter and editor for 30 years before retiring in 2015.

Mr. Smith was born in New York City to Louise Roberts Sheldon and Peter R. Betts. He graduated from what is now Harvard-Westlake School in Los Angeles.

He received a bachelor’s degree in history and political science from Yale University and an MBA from the Wharton School of the University of Pennsylvania. He also completed a yearlong Knight-Wallace business fellowship at the University of Michigan in 1996.

He enjoyed studying military history, an interest fueled by his adoptive father, John Lucian Smith, a decorated Marine Corps pilot in the Solomon Islands campaign during World War II. Col. Smith, who died in 1972, was Mr. Smith’s hero.

In his first career, which lasted for 20 years, Mr. Smith was a reporter for 11 newspapers, including the Evening Bulletin, the Daily News, and the Wall Street Journal at its former bureau on South Broad Street.

At age 42, he left journalism for a second career in business. He graduated from Wharton in 1998, and for the next 22 years held a series of marketing positions at the Vanguard Group, Morgan Stanley, T. Rowe Price, TIAA, and, for the last year, Glenmede Trust, where he was the marketing content manager.

Mr. Smith enjoyed robust health and was a formidable athlete. He skied, played tennis, and hiked in Maine and Massachusetts. He ran thousands of miles, always packing his running gear on trips. He rowed for the University of Michigan during his time in Ann Arbor, and for Penn while at Wharton.

For the last 30 years, he and friend Daniel Davis of Fort Washington bicycled weekly in all but the most severe weather throughout rural Chester County, typically stopping for lunch by a stream.

“We even cycled when the roads were somewhat icy,” Davis said. “We called it icycling. We had fun and understood each other, and it’s very hard to lose all that.”

About a month ago, Mr. Smith was hospitalized with an irregular heartbeat that seemed to come out of nowhere, his wife said. He spent several weeks on a ventilator and was making some progress toward recovery from organ failure when he aspirated fluid into his lungs. The aspiration led to his death.

“It is so unreal,” his wife said. “He is the last person you would think would have a problem like this and die at 66.”

Mr. Smith had many interests. He learned to identify birds by song and plants by their botanical names. He and his wife created a wildlife garden at their home.

A longtime fan of blues music, he once went to Chicago’s South Side and dropped in on some of the greats who lived there. Several broke out the Jack Daniel’s and talked with him for hours.

The Smiths, who married in 1985, shared many adventures. “There was the memorable camping trip in Wales not long after we met, where we stuffed our pots and pans and a tiny tent into a giant L.L. Bean duffel bag and took a rented Mini through the Welsh countryside,” his wife said. Along the way, they ate fresh fish and potatoes.

Some of the most memorable trips were to Morocco. During one, he and a guide climbed Mount Toubkal in the High Atlas Mountains. During another, he and his wife came upon a village wedding and were swept up in the festivities.

Mr. Smith was an adventurer who approached every day with an infectious, joyful gusto. “After 43 years, he remained the most exciting, most beautiful and interesting man I have ever known,” his wife said. “Everyone will miss him terribly.”

Besides his wife, he survived by a stepson, Josh Wiegand; two granddaughters; and many cousins with whom he was very close.

Because of the coronavirus pandemic, celebrations of his life will be held later in Philadelphia and Rhode Island, where he spent summers sailing with his cousins on Narragansett Bay.