RIP, Dr. Bob

I was back from my morning constitutional, and D2 called. We chatted, and she mentioned she saw that Dr. Bob died -- she read it on his daughter Sarah's Instagram page. I was shocked and stunned -- I knew he was getting on, and had chronic health issues, but didn't think his end was close. I was wrong.

His death brought my thoughts back 4 decades, and the impact he and his wife Judy had on my life. In short, I wanted to BE Dr. Bob.

I was a freshman in Judy's English Comp class -- and I was the best student. Those were pre AP days, or I likely would have missed the class. At least, Levittown Schools didn't get around to AP by the late 70s -- turned out it was a great thing for me.

Judy and I became friends, and I was a gung ho pre med student. She introduced me to her husband Dr. Bob, who was then a big shot at the Med School -- Vice Chair of Neurology, and a respected senior faculty member and sought out clinician.  Judy and Bob had me over for dinner, and I met their kids. They later had me babysit them -- Sarah was 10, and Ari 4, and we all grew close.

I wanted to be Bob since, first of all, he was a doctor, and had chosen one of the most intellectual fields in medicine -- Neurology. He was also extremely well read in ALL disciplines -- he told me that his first choice was to be a History Professor, but, as a very smart college student from a working class Jewish home in NYC, it seemed he was on a track to med school, and he stayed on that track.

He had the love of a brilliant and accomplished woman, and two smart kids, and a really cool house in Coral Gables filled with books of all types, and he took university paid trips all over the world where he lectured in his field. Yes -- I wanted to be Bob -- an academic doctor -- it would fulfill my Dad's dream of having a highly educated son.

Bob took me under his wing -- gave me books to read by John Eccles and Oliver Sachs, and invited me to be an intern in his neuro physiology lab, summer of '81. My job was to dissect frogs, and remove their spinal cords for use in a "sucrose gap chamber" in order to measure a neurotransmitter called GABA. Bob was a GABA maven.

I was AWFUL at dissection -- I mangled many more frogs than I like to remember -- but Bob still kept me. His PhD John was an adept dissectionist, so there were always plenty of spinal cords to study.

I printed out a line I had read from a Turgenev novel I read that summer -- a doctor explaining why he dissected frogs, and Bob had it printed out and framed. Years later, it was still on his office wall, and I was extremely proud -- I had shared something of value with the intellectual professor.

I muddled through pre med classes -- getting Cs in the main one, Organic Chemistry -- and As in my Humanities classes. Finally, after taking Embryology in the Fall of my Junior year, a class the professor told us pre meds was MOST like the first two years of medical school, I came to a life choice -- no med school for me.

I met with Bob, and he tried to talk me out of it. He thought I'd make a fine doctor -- don't worry too much about the Cs in Organic -- he'd write me a glowing recommendation. I thanked him, but my heart and head were made up -- I would be an English major, like Judy.

I took a senior level class with Judy, and she became my adviser. Her thoughts about my future in non medical academics were true and glaring. We were at the end of the Baby Boom, and college enrollments were on the decline. She knew of PhD graduates from Harvard and Stanford bussing tables. Did I, a nice Jewish boy who would marry and have a family, want to try to support them as a struggling academic?

I didn't know what to do, but by then I knew what NOT to do, so I decided to go to law school. I had never considered being a lawyer, and didn't think the profession was particularly cool or exciting, but I could read and write pretty well, law school would give me a marketable trade, and so why not? And indeed, it worked out fine -- made a few shekels (ok, a LOT of shekels) and provided a very nice living.

And the rest of life happened. Wifey and I got together, and we house sat for a summer for Bob and Judy -- in Europe giving seminars. We LOVED staying at the house -- we could ride our bikes to Coconut Grove, and skinny dip at night in the big pool.

And, as the years passed, I realized I STILL wanted to be Dr. Bob -- but for different reasons.

Judy had major health issues. He stood by her the whole time -- supporting and loving her. The kids are brilliant. I remember when we'd have dinner, Bob and Judy would wonder -- are they going Ivy League, or are they more casual intellectual types -- Stanford or maybe Cal Berkeley?  Well, in a tough twist of fate, the answer would be neither -- both had severe learning disabilities, and took different roads to success. Sarah soared at the Culinary Institute -- the learning was easier for her there, and Ari took a long time to get his UM degree, but he did -- he works now in IT.

And Bob supported and loved them, even though their paths were not what this genius academic doc had thought. He came up with the very catchy name for Sarah's catering business -- now wildly successful.

I watched Bob at both kids' weddings -- beaming with pride. And at his first grandson's Bris -- I thought he might float away from the kvelling.

So long after his academic career had ended, Bob embodied Sidney Poitier's great description of the measure of a man: the measure of a man is how he takes care of his family.

Dr. Bob was a two time mentor of mine -- first in college, and later as a grown man.

Sarah posted the sad news of his passing on FaceBook, and when I opened my account yesterday, I saw that 6 years before, I had shared the great quote from Robert Louis Stevenson, "That Man is a Success." It fit Dr. Bob to a T.

The funeral is tomorrow, at the same cemetery where my father in law is buried. Wifey and I will visit his grave after Dr. Bob's services.

Through an only in Miami complicated tale, my friend Jeff had become close friends with Judy and Bob, too, and so I will sit with him at the funeral. Sarah catered Jeff's daughter's wedding late last year.

Rest in peace, Dr. Bob. I'll miss you, but remember you always.