Bob Robertson, 1928-1995. Son of Homer and Ethel. Marine Corps, BA, MFA, MA, writer, teacher, newspaperman, Peace Corps. Dad. Husband of Pat. Here in Mexico, where he always seemed happiest.
Bob Robertson, 1928-1995. Son of Homer and Ethel. Marine Corps, BA, MFA, MA, writer, teacher, newspaperman, Peace Corps. Dad. Husband of Pat. Here in Mexico, where he always seemed happiest.
My father, Bob Robertson, 12/18/28 — 11/12/95. Canyon Road and Hamilton Mesa, Santa Fe and Pecos Wilderness, 1970s. Dad, stepmother Pat and Mus heading down the Rito Valdez to Mora Flats. He got to relax a little after newspapering and the Peace Corps, before family care reeled him back again.
We’re not all still around but I like to think of us as still together. This was a good day, reunited after chaotic separations, rough seas, relocated suddenly to Sausalito from Santa Fe. I like these guys despite all the strains, each of us needful in big ways, father included. In my mid-70s, Dad and …
Dear Dad, I’m sure it’s raining on the east side of the Pecos today. That’s good because I’m afraid the Calf Canyon/Hermit’s Peak fire has burned all the way west to Hamilton Mesa or at least to Iron Gate. I guess it’s also burned over where we left your ashes with Pat’s near the Mora …
… is very long, lndeed. “We shall overcome because the arc of the moral universe is long but it bends toward justice.” Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., “Remaining Awake Through a Great Revolution.” Speech given at the National Cathedral, March 31, 1968. The blurry byline on the copy of “A Singing Heard in Selma’s Mud” …
Looking through photos for Father’s Day, I found this: Dear not-so-old Dad, Bob Robertson, right, aboard the Adventurous in Sausalito, California, maybe around 1962. I don’t know whether the photo was taken after a late night at the No Name Bar or as the crew prepared the scruffy little schooner to race George Draper, an …
I woke up knowing it was a special day. First I thought winter solstice but, no, three days too early. Then I looked up at the first light on the cold mountain and remembered your birthday. I think this had something to do with memories of frigid campsites first thing in the morning. Think Beatty’s …
We were celebrating your 60th birthday with this 1989 hike in Colorado, but the photos will do for Father’s Day. My late father, Bob Robertson, 1929-1995.
I’m getting a head start on Father’s Day, already picking out pictures to celebrate my late, one-of-a-kind, Marine Corps-to-Peace Corps, writer, teacher, newspaperman, linguist father. Here mocking risk as always on a beach near Yelapa on the Pacific coast of Mexico in 1975. I could live without the snakes but otherwise thanks, Dad.
dream ranch 