ROBERT C. MARSHALL (F66; CE April 19, 2024)
ALWAYS TRULY COMMITTED
FOREVER DEARLY REMEMBERED
By John Vandevelde [Author’s note: This is a considerably longer than usual obituary because losing Robert has been both personal and emotional, especially after working closely with him the past two years when I came to know him better, and because I greatly admire his achievements in life, his contributions to our brotherhood, his strength and dignity in facing terminal cancer, and his appreciation of history and writing. I hope he would have given me a “thumbs up” in my attempt to tell his story, although he probably would have told me it should be shorter.]
Robert Clayton Marshall’s family lived on a small farm when he was born in Pontiac Michigan on September 10, 1946. The longest Robert lived in one place, 22 years, was at his “rancho” in Lockhart, Texas. Robert was by nature a farmer and rancher.
Every farmer and rancher knows the difference between “involvement” and “commitment,” because when they sit down to a hearty breakfast of bacon’n eggs, they really understand that the chickens were just involved, but the hogs were fully committed.
No surprise that Robert knew the difference. And he was always fully committed to the important things in his life—his family, his wife, his kids, his work, his home, his friends.
Robert’s commitment extended to his fraternity. Robert attended Cal Poly Pomona and became a Brother of Pi Sigma Chi—a member of the ‘Unlucky 13” pledge class in the Fall of 1966. He brought great joy, enthusiasm, laughter, energy and commitment to our brotherhood for his active years and for the rest of his life. His contributions over the years— not just his involvement by being present at gatherings, but his commitment to staying connected and connecting other brothers through his years of oversight and contributions to our Facebook page, to preserving so much of our history, to creating our website and membership management system in the past two years and to generously providing financial support—were all recognized in 2023 when he became a recipient of our highest honor, the Flammae Custos Award.
Robert’s sense of commitment took him a long way through a lot of transformations. The most abbreviated version of his life story is to learn that he went from:
- A little kid with a father struck by polio
- Being the first in his family to go to college
- Digging ditches for Southern California Gas Company after being drafted and discharged because of labile (sudden spiking) blood pressure
- Surviving potentially lethal bladder cancer at age 26
- Moving out of Gas Company’s ditches and into their high-rise offices as a fast-rising member of their computer info team
- Finishing college while working
- Joining Atlantic Richfield Company (ARCO) and rising to become the Chief Information Officer of one of their entities
- Totally reinventing himself after ARCO gave him and many others a “golden handshake,” becoming a Texas rancher with projects and chores that never ended
- Another reinvention into a highly educated historian with a special interest in WW-II
- Transforming himself into a Texas State University history professor, where he taught mostly 20th century American history for 10 years
- Bladder cancer reappeared two years ago, Robert sold the ranch, tractor and pickup to totally reinvent himself again, this time into a retiree, without a chore to be done, in a Wilshire Blvd. high-rise, gazing out to the Pacific Ocean with all his affairs as manageable as possible for his loved ones as he underwent his cancer treatments at UCLA.
Robert’s parents, John (“Jack”) and Lila, his two considerably older sisters, and his brother, John, 2 years younger, were living on a small farm in Pontiac in 1946. Robert’s father worked mostly on automobile assembly lines. In 1952, when Robert was 6, his family, like millions of others in the Midwest and across the country, became part of the post WW-II Great Migration West. They sold their farm and left the cold weather to find sunshine and better jobs as the “California Dream” promised. They drove here, like so many others, following much of Route 66, the “Mother Road,” to Pomona. They towed a trailer, pulling it all the way into a trailer park in Pomona. The six of them lived in that 8’ x 36’ trailer. Robert and brother John slept in recliner chairs in the tiny living room of the trailer.
In those days, shortly after they arrived, when polio was not yet checked because the vaccines would not arrive until 1955, the unimaginable happened. Robert’s father came down with polio. He was not always able to work steadily after that, but lived a long life, passing away in 2006. When Robert’s father became sick, his mother became the primary breadwinner, working as a secretary until she retired. Most of those years she worked at UCLA.
Robert’s parents did manage to leave the trailer behind after about a year when they bought a tiny house on Piedmont Ave. in Claremont (east of Town Ave. and just north of Arrow Hwy.) After a year or so they moved to a slightly larger, still small, house in the Westmont area of Pomona, near what was then the General Dynamics plant on the western side of Pomona. And when Robert was in the 5th grade, they moved into a newer, larger tract house in the Ganesha Park area of Pomona, on Kellogg Park drive, about a block from John Marshall middle school, three blocks from Ganesha High School, and I mile as the crow flies to Cal Poly. That’s where Robert and his family lived through Robert’s Cal Poly years.
It was a different time on Kellogg Park. People called the area “Walnut Park,” because when the tract homes were built, every house had one walnut tree in the front yard. There was no 57 Freeway or Chino Expressway. Working cattle ranches took up most of the nearby Chino Hills and Diamond Bar. Kids, including Robert, would jump the fences and run around in the grazing areas. San Jose Creek ran nearby, and after heavy rains snaked down from Mr. Baldy and the water receded, huge frogs would emerge and kids, including Robert, would catch them. Most boys in the area became Boy Scouts, including Robert (photo R).
Boys on bicycles delivered newspapers to front porches, and that is how Brother Jack Carlino (F67), who delivered the San Gabriel Valley Daily Tribune in the area, first met Robert. Jack was a couple of years younger than Robert and was friends with Robert’s younger brother, John, who Jack would stop and see on his newspaper route. Brother Chris Reinhardt (S69) went all the way through school, from the 2nd or 3rd grade through high school with John. Chris was at the Marshall’s house many times and, like Jack, met Robert. Both Jack and Chris say they admired Robert. Chris and Jack say even though they were a few years younger, Robert was just a really nice guy to them. Chris says Robert was like a big brother to him. The younger kids looked up to him and Chris and Jack say Robert was always helpful, treating them like friends, not like little kids.
Robert was on the gymnastics team at Ganesha High, as was his teammate and friend, later to be his fraternity brother, Stan Grinager (S67; CE23). Robert competed in the rings and parallel bars events. And he was committed enough to stay in shape over the years, one of the few of us who could comfortably wear his original Pi Sig RJ in his later years, which you can tell from the photo on page 1.
The family did not have a lot of money, and growing up Robert always worked at one job or another to take care of himself—including cutting lawns, working at a restaurant and a job at a glass factory. And while at Cal Poly he worked at Pep Boys on the West end of the Pomona Mall [where many fraternity brothers worked over the years, including Eric Holm (S63; CE08), Rick Fetterling (S64), John Vivilacqua (S65; CE11), Mike Pexton (S65), and yours truly]. He had summer jobs as a laborer on a ditch digging crew for the Southern California Gas Company. His first car was actually an ambulance, a 1950 Ford, but he worked hard enough to have a British racing green Triumph TR4 with chrome wire wheels when he lived at the fraternity house at 783 Kingsley.
After high school, Robert went to Mt. Sac for a couple of years and then went on to Cal Poly, where he pledged Pi Sigma Chi. His pledge class dubbed themselves the “Unlucky 13,” because after some ill-advised “RFs” on the actives, including leaving the pledge meeting without permission, the Pledgemaster decided to extend the pledge period by two weeks.
Robert was given an odd nickname by his pledgebrothers—“Fluff.” Turns out that in those days actives would assign to some of the pledges various tasks around the house. Denis Kurutz (W66; Hon. Kappa) told Robert that it was his job to fluff up all the pillows on the sofas and chairs in the living room at 783 Kingsley every time he came into the house. It’s not clear if Robert liked the task or was good at it, he probably was, but the nickname was given and it stuck.
Robert was good at most things and set his own very high standards. Jack Carlino remembers that both of them had sportscars when they lived at the Kingsley house, Robert’s Triumph TR4 and Jack’s yellow Corvette. Both of them would wash their cars pretty regularly, and often wax them in the tree-shaded driveway area at the house. But Robert was a perfectionist, while Jack was more of a pragmatist—until he met Robert. Robert’s car was always immaculate, paint shining, chrome spokes flashing. And when Robert waxed the Triumph, he would take the time to make sure all the wax was out of every body joint or door jamb, whereas Jack didn’t used to even think about it until Robert started giving him a hard time about why he was satisfied with doing such a “shitty” job by leaving wax in the joints and cracks. But Jack points out that Robert had a way of always adding a smile, or a tease, or some pointers, making those comments not at all hurtful, and motiving you to emulate him. Jack says to this day he thinks of Robert when he waxes his car.
And Robert had a lot of initiative and an entrepreneurial spirit. He had a knack for coming up with good ideas coupled with humor and clever marketing skill. Those attributes came in handy when Robert became House Manager. Jack remembers that nobody could keep anything in the house refrigerator because it would be gone in minutes. So Robert got hold of a soda vending machine and put it near the back door. He stocked it with a variety of sodas, including things like orange, grape and so on. He bought the sodas in bulk and sold them at a low price. But he added his own twist. You see, Robert always loved puns! So each morning, when the guys in the house went out the back door, they would see a new Post-it from Robert on the front of the machine with a pun, something like, “Orange you going to have a soda today,” or, “Water you choose to drink today,” or “Have a grape day.” Jack says the puns worked, because soon guys just had to see what the pun was each day, even if they were not planning to buy a soda.
As you can see in one of my favorite photos of Robert, he loved to have fun and be the center of attention (photo L). He served as Social Chair for a time and he loved the parties. But he also loved spontaneous fun and was always up for an adventure. One of those adventures produced another of my favorite photos of Robert.
It had recently snowed at Mt Baldy and someone at the house came up with an idea—“What the hell, it’s only 15 miles and 30 minutes, let’s go play in the snow.” Mike Pexton, a car guy who loves to drive, took off in his always classy and clean Ford, with Jerry St. Lawrence (F66; CE09), Matty Kolodge (F66; CE15), and Robert. They had a great time and made an artistically-fabulous, mostly anatomically-correct “snowgirl.”
For purely medicinal purposes because of the cold, while they were up there they apparently had a few beers along with a lot of laughs.
And then Mike discovered he had lost his keys somewhere in the snow!
It was a different time—pre-cellphone for one thing. So Mike called the landline phone at the fraternity house and Tom Runa (S66; Hon. Lambda) had the bad judgment to answer the call. Bonds of Brotherhood prevented Tom from saying “No.” Instead, Tom said, “What the hell, it’s only 15 miles and 30 minutes, plus I think they must have beer.” So he and Pat Miller (S66) found Mike’s extra set of keys and drove up there to rescue the snowgirl sculptors and take this wonderful photo in which Jerry looks like he is determined to protect the virtue of their girl against the wandering hands of Mike and Robert (photo L to R, Robert, Jerry, Mike and Matty).
They say, “All good things must come to an end,” and that was true for all of us. No matter how much fun we were having, eventually we had to move on to jobs or, in those days, service in the armed forces— voluntarily or otherwise. In Robert’s case, in 1969, he was drafted and went to basic training at Fort Ord, but he was discharged after a few months because of labile blood pressure (sudden changes with high blood pressure). Robert had summer jobs working for the Southern California Gas Company digging ditches. It involved a lot of manual labor. After his discharge from the Army because of his erratic blood pressure, instead of returning to Cal Poly, he was hired by the Gas Company as a full-time member of a of a crew that dug ditches. Robert learned to operate the heavy equipment they used on bigger jobs. He was good at it, but he had ambitions to use some of what he learned in college by moving over to the business side of the Gas Company. Like many large businesses, the Gas Company regularly posted all job openings. Robert saw a job posting for a computer programming trainee. He interviewed for the for the position and was given the job. He learned quickly and became a key part of the team. He also became close friends with another programming trainee, Dennis Jones, and they worked together at the Gas Company for about 10 years.
A lot happened in those 10 years:
Robert married.
- He and his first wife bought their first house, in Temple City. Robert, just 24, made a lot of improvements to the house, doing the work himself, a pattern repeated in later years. In a sizzling hot California market they doubled their money when they sold it 2 years later.
- At 26 Robert had his first bout with cancer—bladder cancer, which was treated surgically at USC Hospital. And he beat that cancer to live cancer-free for the next almost 50 years!
- They moved to a very modern house squeezed onto a very small lot three blocks from the water in Manhattan Beach. Tom Runa, a practicing landscape architect by then, designed a deck at that house, and it was built by Tim Motherhead (F66), a graduate and teacher at the time, who did construction work in the summers, and Jerry St. Lawrence, also a graduate and working in finance at Star-Kist Tuna Co.
- They had their first child, Steven, while living in Manhattan Beach;
- Then they moved back to San Gabriel Valley, to a larger house in Monrovia, where they had their second son, David.
- Robert and his first wife divorced.
In 1979, Dennis Jones, who by then had been working for Robert at the Gas Company, was the first to move to ARCO. He told Robert how great he thought ARCO was and Robert ended up applying and getting a position there, again working with Dennis.
Robert all along had been taking classes to complete the work to earn his Bachelor of Science in Business, which he received from Redlands University shortly after moving to ARCO in 1979. After that, he later took classes at Loyola Marymount University in the early 1980s, working on an MBA that he never quite completed.
When Robert worked at ARCO, and before that at the Gas Company offices, he was a sharp-dressing, suit-and-tie wearing executive, in the heart of downtown Los Angeles.
While Robert was officed downtown, his Pi Sig Big Brother, Ken Coopman (S66), graduated from Cal Poly in 1968 and by now a seasoned commercial loan officer and Executive VP at Bank of America, was in the opposite “ARCO Tower.” Mike Pexton, Robert’s fellow “snowgirl” sculptor, had graduated and for much of that period was in the Union Bank tower, where he was a commercial leasing officer. And Jack Carlino at about that time, also graduated, was a business broker at Business Corporation of America on Wilshire Blvd., connecting prospective buyers with prospective sellers of all kinds of business entities.
Robert was always interested in what his fraternity brothers were doing and made efforts to stay in contact with them and learn from them. Mike Pexton remembers seeing Robert frequently for lunch and being in contact when they were both working downtown and at the same time both living in Manhattan Beach. Jack Carlino remembers having lunches a number of times, always someplace different, often somewhere on or near Wilshire Blvd., always suggested by Robert, who seemed to know every place that was interesting and good. Ken Coopman remembers seeing Robert during the years Robert was with ARCO. And when I was working in the U.S. Attorney’s Office in downtown LA, and later in private practice, I remember seeing Robert, along with a handful of other brothers, at some of the very first “Ascension Thursday” lunches that Father Jerry Cummings (Honorary66; CE97) organized.
Robert made a point of meeting with his brothers, singly or in groups, whenever he could. But there was another, much more important meeting that took place after Robert moved to ARCO.
Robert’s group at ARCO took on projects collecting, crunching and analyzing data for various departments within ARCO. One of those departments was the Finance Department. And one of the people who Robert regularly did projects for was Deborah Leeb, the Director of Internal Audit for worldwide operations at ARCO. She was quite accomplished herself, with a Masters in Art History, followed by a paralegal certification and then an MBA.
Deborah liked the work Robert did, but she also liked Robert, and vice versa. At the time Robert was divorced and had custody of his two sons. One thing led to another. They got together and on May 19, 1989, Robert and Deborah were married. Robert’s celebration of life services set for May 19, 2024, would have been their 35th wedding anniversary.
They moved to a fixer-upper house in Altadena and soon transformed it into an architectural showpiece (photo L). Life was good. Deborah adopted Robert’s two sons and they made a great home and life together.
External forces were at work, however. Change was coming.
ARCO management made a decision to become an attractive bride for a corporate marriage. One of the steps it took was to cut its workforce expense by offering “golden handshakes” to employees who were interested in taking an early retirement. Both Robert, who since 1994 had been the CIO of one of the ARCO entities, and Deborah were interested, but were considered too essential and would require too expensive a handshake. However, as talks progressed with British Petroleum, which would lead to an acquisition in 2000, both Robert and Deborah kept asking, and eventually each of them reached a generous severance agreement—Deborah first in 1997, and Robert in 1998. Robert was just 52 and, with Deborah, set to comfortably retire.
Their sons were both out of high school and into college. Their home in Altadena was just the way they wanted it. They had started a small business consulting practice in 1997.
But Robert had an itch. He wanted to do something different. He wanted a “Rancho.” He wanted land he could “putter around” on. In 2000 they sold their home in Altadena and bought Southaven Ranch, a 50 acre cattle ranch in Lockhart, Texas (billed as the “Little City With The Big Heart,” and officially declared by the Texas legislature as the “Barbecue Capital” of Texas; it’s not far from tech-rich Austin). The ranch included a large but bleak ranch house, an apartment, a workshop larger than most houses Robert grew up in, a barn, and two structures that were historical, a slave cabin and the “Withers House.”
Since Robert was an historian, he would want me to explain that the Marshall’s ranch was on the “Chisolm Trail,” named for Jess Chisholm, a half-Cherokee trader who developed the trail in the 1830s to bring trading goods, including cattle, to frontier trading posts in Texas. Lack of market access during the Civil War had produced an overstock of cattle in Texas. In the first post-Civil War year of 1866, cattle in Texas were worth $4 per head, compared to over $40 per head in the North and East. In 1867, Joseph McCoy built stockyards in Abilene, Kansas, and encouraged Texas cattlemen to drive their herds to his stockyards where they would travel by rail to the North and East. Texas cattlemen, at first a rancher by the name of O. W. Wheeler, answered McCoy's call. He and others used the Chisholm Trail to bring the first herd of 2,400 head from Texas to Abilene. This herd was the first of an estimated 5,000,000 head of Texas cattle to reach Abilene over the Chisholm Trail, which drew cattle driven from all parts of Texas cattle country to gathering places before the long drive north. One of those gathering places was the Withers ranch. M. A. Withers owned one of the biggest ranches around Lockhart at the time, with a ranch house plus nearby corrals covering about four acres back in the day. Cattle from far and wide were driven to the Withers’ corrals, where re-marking and re-branding would take place before the 700 mile cattle drive from there to Abilene. When the Marshalls made their purchase, the old, dilapidated Withers ranch house and the nearby slave cabin were still standing on a corner of the ranch.
You can see why the historian Robert loved his ranch and its rich history. Robert had plans for the ranch. He, with Deborah, transformed it from a tired, small cattle ranch to a hay ranch that was perfect for a gentleman rancher of his and Deborah’s sophisticated taste. It took about three years, but they totally refurbished the ranch house, added a pool, built a large pond, added sidewalks and driveways, lots of landscaping, a couple of acres of manicured grass, and more. Of course, like most of the ranchers, they had a tractor and a pickup, but they were probably the only ranchers in Lockhart who drove a pair of Mercedes cars.
After the first year of so of using his own tractor to mow the hay, Robert started contracting with hay crews to mow and bale the hay to be stored and later sold. But Robert still loved to do all kinds of things himself. He bought a riding mower for the manicured lawn around the house, and he mowed that lawn himself. In fact, Bruce Brandenburg (F66) recalls that Robert, always trying to perfect things, used the tracking function on his cellphone to figure out the most efficient and perfect path to follow when mowing the lawn, creating a complicated map of his mowing route.
Not every project Robert took on went perfectly. Bruce remembers Robert telling him that he had decided to clear a bunch of ivy that had climbed all over a huge tree. Robert climbed up in the tree and pulled every last piece of the vines down, only to realize not long after that it was poison ivy. He broke out in a rash so bad that he had to spend time in the hospital recovering.
Once the rancho was like he and Deborah wanted, Robert got another itch. He had always been a history buff, especially about WW-II. So in 2003 he decided to go back to school and get a masters degree in history, for no reason other than his own enjoyment. He started attending Texas State University, located about 15 minutes away in San Marcos, Texas. He loved it. He was older than his classmates, made friends with a lot of them, had a lot of confidence and enjoyed a lot of academic interaction with them. He finished his studies and received his Masters of Arts in History in 2005. At the commencement, the Dean of the Graduate Department offered him a job as an Adjunct Professor. Robert accepted on the spot and taught there for 10 years.
Things were all in order on the ranch after the first few years of hard work and Robert and Deborah were living the good life on the rancho.
- They were able to travel—Europe, Iguazu, Galapagos and more. On one trip they met some fellow travelers from London and became lifelong friends, taking a number of “mystery” trips together, taking turns in planning their trips without the other couple knowing the destination.
- Deborah grew up with fine art in the home and she and Robert were able to spend time collecting art—he the whimsical things and she the serious things.
- Their sons were doing well. The oldest, Steven, and his wife, Valerie, and their two kids, Miles and Cooper, were in Los Angeles, but they got together often. The younger son, David, lived in the Philippines, where he and his now wife, Marissa, own and run a company providing billing services for US health care providers, but David came to Texas regularly to manage some rental properties and visit. So Robert and Deborah saw their kids and grandkids a lot. (Photo below of almost all of the family, L to R, daughter-in-law Valerie holding grandson Cooper, son Steven, with grandson Miles standing below, Deborah, Robert, and son David.)
All was in place and going according to plan for Robert and Deborah.
But then everything changed.
Early in 2022, Robert learned that there was a tumor in his bladder. The cancer had returned after close to five decades. Sadly, Robert’s. Younger brother, John, had suffered the same cancer and had passed away a few years earlier, in 2018.
At the time Robert got the bad news, he, Bruce Brandenburg, John Mairs (F85), and I were spending a lot of time on zoom calls, selecting a vendor to provide a membership management system and creating a website as part of that system. Robert’s primary role was to use our available spreadsheet data to create a data base on the new system, which he did. He played other roles, including serving as Communications Director for our group and editor for the content. The four of us spoke often, and for the next two-plus years Robert’s cancer was the ugly elephant in the room during every conversation.
I was shocked. I knew about Robert’s bout with cancer at age 26. In fact, when I had my own bout with cancer in 2009, after learning I was extremely fortunate because it was an indolent form of lymphoma not requiring treatment at the time, I decided to take almost 3 months off from my law practice to ride across the country on a bicycle, raising money for cancer causes. On that ride I carried a small journal with the names of people who contributed and the names of people I knew who had faced cancer, some of whom were survivors, and some of whom had passed. Robert’s name (photo R, at bottom of page) is in that book as one of the survivor’s who gave me great comfort during that ride.
Robert was brave, open, optimistic and realistic about his cancer. He talked about it with me and others. He kept our website group of Bruce, John Mairs and me, and our boss, Jack Carlino, plus other brothers and friends, abreast of the excruciating and frustrating ups and downs of his fight. At the same time, except for the relatively rare and brief times when he went through chemo treatments that knocked him down, he took on and completed his work on the website. The work was a welcome diversion and gave him great satisfaction.
He and I talked about how the cancer evaluation and treatment process creates a kind of “roller coaster” of emotions. One time they scan and find something that can be fixed, then they find something else. Sometimes the “something else” is not such a big problem, other times it is. He went through those bumps and dips a number of times, starting with treatment in Texas, followed by good news on the bladder tumors, followed by discovery of tumors in his liver, and new treatment for that.
Then came the wildfires. They are not that unusual in Texas hay country. And they have to be put out and kept out or they will smolder and restart. Things got to the point that Robert could not get out in the fields and put out the fires. He hired a ranch hand to take care of things, but soon he and Deborah made a decision. They were going to sell the ranch and come home to Los Angeles, where Deborah grew up and had some family. They sold the ranch, tractor, pickup and lawn mower and moved here in October, 2022. They bought a full-service, 18th floor condo on Wilshire Blvd., close to UCLA hospital, which would be taking over his cancer care.
The place was beautiful. The views (below) were breathtaking. All the distractions of wildfires and taking care of 50 acres were behind them. It was a total, 180 degree, night-and-day change from the rancho, but Robert felt good about how things were, as did Deborah.
Robert had lots of help and support, and not just from Deborah and his and her family. And Deborah had support, including one of the students Robert met at Texas State, Sandra George. Sandra became very close to both Robert and Deborah. In the early 2000s, she became what they ended up calling their “surrogate” daughter. She even lived with them for a while and they took care of her and helped her through school. She was so close that she helped take care of Robert in Texas when he first began treatment for his cancer, and again in the last days of Robert’s cancer battle, she was with them in Los Angeles, helping them to deal with whatever she could.
There were more ups and downs after they arrived in LA, with multiple trips to the ER, multiple admissions and stays, multiple kinds of treatment. Often the treatments seemed promising at first, but the tumors kept coming back. Along the way, more than once, Robert talked about ceasing treatment. Then the news came that there were tumors in his brain. A new treatment was tried and stopped when it did not help. And then another option would make sense, and be tried, and once again stopped. And then the scans were worse. And then he had some seizures.
Towards the end Robert seemed to be at peace with deciding to forego any treatment, and, as he said to me and others more than once, “let nature take its course,” which is what he did.
Robert was in hospice care, at home, with the three women he most loved —Deborah, her sister, Diane Ross-Glazer, and their surrogate daughter, Sandra George—at his side when he passed away early on April 19, 2024.
What an accomplished, admirable man, fully committed to all the things important in his life, even worrying about and making things as good as he could for his loved ones as he was slowly being taken away from them by cancer.
Thank you for all the good things you did.
Rest in peace Brother Robert!
“Here’s to Brother Robert, he’s with us, he’s with us . . . .”
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