DOCTOR BOB

I’m sitting here on a rainy summer night in Baltimore, thinking about my dear friend, Bob. What an important part of my life he has been. And now, what a seemingly impossible task it is to find the right words, to find the right memories to express the essence of who my friend was. I so want to do him justice, to pay tribute to all that he was. But how do you put into words a man’s life? He was so many things to so many people. To me, he was “Doctor Bob”. I’m not really sure just where that nick name originated (I seem to recall it being one of the Muppets). But from wherever it came... it stuck. And appropriately so. You see, Bob was always the caregiver, always the one reaching out to heal and to help: his family, his friends, his students... and every homeless dog or cat who happened his way. Why, in recent years, with his menagerie of adoring pets, he was more of a “Doctor Doolittle” than a “Doctor Bob”. But whether animal or human... he cared for, he comforted, he listened, he advised, he loaned, he gave away, he volunteered, he stood up for, he cherished, and he loved. Yes, to oh, so many, he was a very GOOD “doctor”, indeed. How sad, that in the end, the old adage of “physician, heal thyself”... was such an impossibility. Now, long before he was “Doctor Bob” the dear friend, he was “Mr. Riley” my high school English teacher. That’s how we met, some 25 years ago. In the classroom, “Mr. Riley” always had such wit, such charisma. You WANTED to have Mr. Riley as your teacher. You WANTED to pay attention, to catch all of his subtle one-liners, and his not so subtle double entendres. The learning part just kind of came naturally. It was his gift. Like a great pianist breathes life into a concerto, or a skilled athlete brings grace to the 50-yard run, Mr. Riley brought insight and real ENJOYMENT to learning. And you sensed that behind that immaculate suit and tie, beneath that scholarly persona... there was a real, down-to-earth, caring friend. That was another of his gifts. And then, there was “Mr. Riley” the writer and the director of school plays. Now, unless you’ve actually experienced it, it’s hard to comprehend the life-changing effect that being in a high school play can have on a student. But at a time when many kids were struggling with who they were and just where they fit in to it all, Mr. Riley’s original, life-affirming plays honestly spoke to their souls. Through humor and heartfelt conviction -- in both his written words and his style as a director -- Mr. Riley offered hundreds of students the chance to believe in themselves. I think HE said it best, in his dedication of one of his original plays: “To any child whoever looked out into the darkness in search of himself, and in the warm glow of a spotlight found love, joy and a sense of belonging”. After I graduated from high school, for me and about five or six of my closest friends, “Mr. Riley” the teacher-writer-director soon became... ... “Disco Bob”. That’s right, “Disco Bob”. After all, it WAS the 70’s, you know. And dressed in his platform shoes, silk shirts and bell-bottom pants, Bob could boogie with the best of them. As the years passed, “Disco Bob” became our friend, our mentor, our big brother. And for me, he also became “Bob the movie star”. You see, while studying to become a filmmaker, I talked Bob into starring in my Spielberg-spoof: “Close Encounters Of The ABSURD Kind”. As the HERO of my little film, “Bob the movie star” had to: fall down a ravine, have half of his face painted bright red, eat WAY too many mashed potatoes, and interact with imaginary aliens in the middle of the Stroop Road K-Mart parking lot. Now THAT was proof positive of a true friend. Throughout the triumphs and tragedies of the passing years, our friendship held fast. Even when distance sometimes limited our actual visits to once a year at Christmas, time nor space diminished our bond. I felt such pride each time I learned of Bob’s great successes -- some on the international level -- as he served as newspaper and yearbook advisor for Kettering Fairmont High School. And I remember HIS pride when he was first chosen as Kettering’s Teacher Of The Year. Yes, he truly loved his work, and he loved his students -- “his kids”. They were, in many ways, his life. And the respect and the admiration always went BOTH ways. Nearly everyday a student would come to his office in need. And though he wasn’t the “official” counselor, they felt compelled, they felt trusting enough to confide their deepest sufferings: a young boy trying to rise above his addition to drugs, a girl who was pregnant and didn’t know where to turn, a student whose abusive father had kicked him out of the house. And each time, “Doctor Bob” would somehow find a way to prescribe HOPE, to give them a sense of self, a sense of belonging. Yes, Bob was truly a loving and devoted teacher, friend, son, father, and grandfather. And we will all miss him dearly. Though he shied away from “organized religion”, Bob did have a deep and personal faith in God. And though he wasn’t an exceedingly athletic man, I do know for a fact that Bob and God got together on numerous occasions to “wrestle”. Despite these encounters, or possibly BECAUSE of them, I can say with certainty that the two of them were the best of friends.... even when actual visits to God's house were limited to once a year at Christmas. Of course, my dear friend Bob was not a perfect man. But then, who is? You know, I sometimes think that when a person spends their entire life giving and caring for OTHERS, that many times they find they have very little left for THEMSELVES. And sometimes, the very thing that they are so adept at helping OTHERS find -- a sense of belonging, a belief in ones’ self, the realization of love -- this can be the very thing they end up searching for ALL of their life. So many times, when Bob’s son, Randy, or even a close friend would say, “Bob, I love you,”, Bob would reply, “I love you MORE.” Maybe today, through the grace of God, Bob’s spirit can finally sense the genuine and abundant love of all of you gathered here in this place. And maybe today, as our hearts lift up a combined “Bob, I love you”, in HIS heart he’ll be able to finally reply, “Yes, I know.” Yes, I’m sitting here on a rainy summer night in Baltimore, thinking about my dear friend, Bob. And through the tears, the fond memories and “the what could have beens”, above all, I remember the love. Bill Jacobs August 20, 1999

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