The Story of Bob

Taken in 1973.

 

This is my very favorite shot of Bob, even with the damage to the image. He looks so thoughtful and somber -- wonder what's on his mind.

 

It's a bit convoluted how I'm related to Bob. His dad, Bert, and my great-grandmother, Bess, were brother and sister, two of eight children born to my great-great grandparents, C.A. and Ida. At some point in time in the 30's, Bert and Bess had a falling out and never really spoke to each other again; in fact, other than exchanging letters with two of her siblings over the years, I don't know if Bess ever saw any of her family in the last 30 years of her life. So, that meant that our whole side of the family never really knew any of these uncles, aunts, cousins until I started delving into the family history a few months ago. Curious about these long-lost relatives, I started searching for their children and grandchildren and have found all kinds of Griffins, who, I'm happy to say, have been thrilled to hear from me and re-establish our family connection. It is through them that I have gotten to know Bob and all of his funny, quirky ways.

 

Bob's parents, Bert and Sadie, were married three years when Bob came along in the summer of 1922, and to say that he was greatly loved and doted on as the first child would be an understatement. I have probably 200 or so photos of Bob as a young child, something I think is quite remarkable considering that this was the 20's and Bert and Sadie were not in any way affluent; photography must have been one of their few luxuries in life. When Bob was born, the family lived in a small apartment building just a block or two from downtown Granite City, where Bert worked as an insurance agent for Prudential. Granite City was (and I guess still is) a blue collar, one-company steel town, so, while being an insurance agent in other parts of the country may have been quite a lucrative profession, I don't think it was for Bert. He eeked out a living, but the family never lived in a home larger than a little bungalow with a converted attic for Bob's room. But, that was fine by the Griffins because they had each other and a great number of friends and family, so they were a very happy bunch.

 

A few years after Bob was born, his little sister, Carol, came along. With a precocious but very sweet little boy and a beautiful baby girl to love and adore, the Griffin family was complete. Like most mothers do, Sadie logged all of her childrens' special moments in their baby books, sentimentally packed away a few of their baby clothes as mementos (a wool bathing suit, hand-stitched collar, a silk onesie), and snapped photo after photo of her dear little ones. [Sadie kept all of these special baby items her entire, very long life (she died at the age of 99 in 1996), and I am now the proud owner of them.]

 

As Carol grew older, it quickly became apparent that she had severe mental deficiencies. Since mental retardation was such a huge stigma back in those days, I feel confident that Carol's doctors encouraged Bert and Sadie to hide her away in an institution somewhere and throw away the key. I also know that, among others, my great-grandmother, Bess, who wasn't Sadie's biggest fan on a good day, blamed Sadie for Carol's condition (this accusation may have occurred after the feud with Bert started). With all of this pressure, stress, and guilt, Bert and Sadie could have easily buckled and committed Carol, but they didn't. They loved their little girl, no matter what, and they wanted her with them and Bob. I think they were very brave.

 

Although they adored Carol, Bert and Sadie knew her options in life would be limited, so they put all of their hopes and dreams for the future in Bob, and he had no problem living up to them. He was smart, funny, gregarious, popular, and always open for adventure.

 

During high school, Bob was the quintessential big fish in a small pond, working as the editor of the school newspaper and being elected as class president. By the time he graduated in January 1941, great things were expected of Bob, but, like many graduates sick of spending their lives in dull classrooms, he opted to forego college and get to work in the real world instead. He got an office job at the local steel mill and quickly realized that he could work there for decades without ever moving up the ladder. With parents who couldn't afford to put him through college and little prospect of ever achieving success at the mill, Bob saw his options rapidly dwindling, and the gloom of Granite City overcame him, as it had so many others before him.

 

Then the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor.

 

Within a year, Bob was inducted into the Army Air Corps and hoped to become a pilot, but he didn't pass the physical and transferred to the Army, where he spent almost two years working in various offices stateside and in Hawaii. He's the only WWII vet I've ever heard of who said he spent the entire war bored as hell. But, his two years of service made him eligible for the G.I. Bill, and suddenly, Bob's world opened up again.

 

In the meantime, Carol's options became even bleaker as she got older. As she grew into a teenager, her condition greatly deteriorated: she became nervous, angry, and easily agitated; her ability to take care of herself and communicate with others diminished drastically; and she had to be hospitalized several times for her increasingly violent outbursts.

 

Finally, in 1945, when Carol was 16, a financially strapped and emotionally exhausted Bert and Sadie realized they could no longer take care of Carol and made the heartbreaking decision to relinquish their parental rights and institionalize their beloved daughter (I guess that's how it was done back then). She moved to a school for the mentally disabled in a nearby town, and a devastated Bert and Sadie sat down to write to Bob overseas and tell him the sad news. According to Sadie's diary entry for that day, "we dreaded to do that."

 

Although Carol no longer lived with them, Bert, Sadie, and Bob visited her frequently, wrote bags full of letters to her, and took her out for family holidays as often as they could. I have a lot of photos of family gatherings and picnics, and Carol is always front and center. As she grew older, Carol's ability to communicate became more and more limited, but there are photos of her in classes at the school and in later homes, and I have a whole box of her art and letters her caregivers wrote to the family about Carol's day-to-day life when they weren't around. She seemed to be very happy in her new surroundings and was always anxious to get back "home" after time spent with her family.

 

Meanwhile, a freshly discharged Bob enrolled for his first semester of college at the University of Missouri in the fall of 1946. After five years of dead-end jobs working at the mill and in wartime offices, Bob was thrilled to be in the vibrant college town of Columbia discussing ideas with fellow students and writing creatively again for the first time since high school (some of Bob's college stories are in my photostream). His writing was so good, in fact, that he decided to major in journalism, specializing in feature writing. Now that Bob had a plan for the future for the first time since high school, he spent the next four years devouring books, writing, and thoroughly embracing the college life.

 

After graduation in February 1950, Bob began his career in journalism working on the Maryville Daily Forum in Maryville, MO, earning $50 a week as a general reporter. For a bachelor living in the Midwest with no responsibilities or debt, this was probably quite decent money, the first real money Bob ever had. Yet, after a year there, opportunity knocked elsewhere, and Bob moved on to Jefferson City, MO, working at the News-Tribune and spending four years there as the assistant city editor earning a whopping $75 a week.

 

It was during this time that Bob met Ruth Perrey, a lively, petite blonde with an easy smile and a vivacious personality that matched Bob's perfectly. Ruth was from a nearby small town and moved to Jefferson City after high school to attend the local junior college, and, after graduation, she stayed in town and went to work for the Missouri Farm Bureau. Bob's new sweetheart was independent, confident, and spirited, and he was instantly and hopelessly smitten. They were 27 when they met and didn't feel the need to waste a lot of time courting, so they married without much pomp or circumstance in a small ceremony at the First Christian Church in Jefferson City on May 31, 1953.

 

Two years later, Bob decided to give up newspaper life in search of something more stable and profitable. He opted to give big business a try and submitted an application to Shell Oil. I have a copy of this hand-written application, dated September 1955, and in it, he expresses the desire to work for Shell as a writer in some capacity. Luck was on Bob's side because he got the job and became a writer and editor for several of the company's publications. He and Ruth moved to NYC, where Shell was based, and enjoyed the big city life of parties, museums, plays, and concerts.

 

It was a happy time for the newly-married couple. Bob was making good money, and he and Ruth were able to decorate their Manhattan apartment in fine mid-century modern style (see photos in my stream) and make frequent trips home to see Bert, Sadie, Carol, and Ruth's family. Also, Bob's job enabled him to travel around the country, meeting various Shell station owners and writing feature stories about them for several intra-company publications. The only thing missing was a little Bob or Ruth to love and adore and make little boxes of mementos for. Although they tried for a long time, Ruth never conceived, so they resigned themselves to their fate and became an adoring aunt and uncle to their various nieces and nephews.

 

After 14 years living in NYC, Shell moved its headquarters to Chicago in 1970, and Bob and Ruth went along for the ride. By this time, Bob had become a collector of something rather peculiar ... names. I have no idea how this hobby started, but I am the proud owner of 40 yellowed pages of typed, single-spaced, very unusual and funny names that Bob compiled over the span of about 30 years. Here's a very small sampling of Bob's unique collection:

 

Orville E. Turnipseed (Shell dealer in Sunnyvale, Calif.)

Silk Sourjohn (resident of Madison County, Ill.)

Zephyr Psychedelic Chunky (Rhodesian burglary suspect)

Queen Sneed (Bronx waitress)

Practical Love (former employee of Owens-Illinois Glass)

Gotthilf Bopple (resident of Cleveland)

Socrates G. Poppajohn (attorney in Mason City, Iowa)

Poxie Propst (resident of Fulton, MO)

 

In addition to collecting names, Bob also became the go-to man for limericks and poetry. If someone needed a funny line or two written about a colleague for a birthday, retirement, or other occasion, Bob was only too happy to sit down and pen a line or two that surely had everyone laughing when he read it aloud to the gathering of whatever the special event was. Ever the performer (or, some might say, clown), I can so easily see a bespectacled Bob standing atop a paper-littered, metal work desk, cigarette in one hand and his poem in the other, with all eyes focused on him and only him, the star, as he grandly builds up the mood for the great punchline he wrote just for them. Yes, I think that Bob was quite a popular guy and never hesitated for the chance to entertain a crowd.

 

Here are a couple of his little ditties:

 

TO MELVIN:

May your skin be filled with bourbon,

As I pen this epigram,

May you always fill your stomach

From a pot of beans and ham.

 

May you never know frustration

Of a blank day fraught with stress,

May you never have to listen

To the nonsense you express.

 

There are many things to wish you,

To complete the Season's cheer,

But I know the way you'll end it --

With your belly full of beer.

 

 

And one of his limericks:

 

Said Stella to a fella named Earl:

"You know I'm an old-fashioned girl.

But if you're really keen

For some kinky routine,

Just ask, and we'll give it a whirl."

 

And one more in the vein of Dr. Seuss:

 

It's odd, it's weird,

It's almost laughable

That a grapefruit is

Precisely un-halfable.

 

I feel I'm a failure.

I'm hopeless. Don't laugh.

I can't cut a grapefruit

Precisely in half.

 

As the years passed, Bob also took up photography and genealogical research. He and Ruth would pack up and drive to a remote cemetery and take photos of family tombstones or make the long trek to a falling down, abandoned farm out in the middle of nowhere that once belonged to a distant uncle's cousin. (All of these things are exactly what I like to do, too, and I've found myself on more than one occasion following in Bob's photographic and genealogical footsteps.)

 

By the mid-1970s, Shell decided to move operations again, this time to Houston, and Bob and Ruth followed one last time. They bought a house, tended to their garden as if it were their children, and, as they say, "went Texan." But, times in corporate America were hard, and the stress of layoffs, an increasingly heavy workload, and unresponsive management began to take its toll on Bob. All of these emotions were exaserbated when Bert died back in Granite City at the age of 80 in 1977. Bob began to take stock of his life and realized that the headache of so much work would soon kill him, so, in 1980, he decided to retire at the relatively young age of 58. Co-workers, friends, and family (including Ruth) worried that Bob would get bored without a job to go to every day, but I think that he was one of those people who always found something to be interested in, so once he left, he never looked back.

 

Bob and Ruth stayed in Houston for another 10 years, but it was never really home to them. They wanted to return to their roots together and to be near family, so they picked up and moved one last time to the place where they started their lives together -- Jefferson City. They spent their quiet days together visiting family, taking photos, or taking trips to places like Hawaii with their favorite niece and her husband.

 

Then Ruth was diagnosed with cancer. She fought it and recovered, but several years later, it came back, and this time she wasn't so lucky. She died in 1998. Bob's sister, Carol, followed three years later, and Bob was all alone.

 

Although his smile was forever tinged with sadness, Bob managed to pull himself together and continue writing funny poetry about his aging friends and collecting unusual names. He was okay on the surface, but perhaps to fill the void left by Ruth's passing, Bob also started collecting other things, and lots of them -- paper clips, marbles, little jacks balls, trinkets, pens, you name it. Soon, his house became overrun with all of the little collections he amassed, but without Ruth there to keep his life in order, he just didn't care anymore.

 

Around this same time, Bob, a lifelong smoker (you will rarely see a photo of him sans cigarette), was diagnosed with OCPD, and he had to be on oxygen for hours a day. But that didn't stop him from writing funny missives, such as this one he sent to a pestering company wanting him to buy something:

 

"I am an 84-year-old widower who bought all the essentials a half-century ago.

 

Since then, I've picked up more than my share of knick-knacks, trinkets, and other miscellaneous bric-a-brac.

 

Therefore, I'm not a prime prospect for purchasing your peachy merchandise.

 

You'll save me some time, my mailbox some wear and tear, and yourselves some printing and mailing costs by removing my name from your mailing list.

 

Do it now!

 

Thanks"

 

In his last years, I'm happy to say that Bob developed a friendship with a lovely, equally lonely widow down the street. They went to dinners together, spent holidays together with their families, and took little trips because, even in old age, Bob liked to explore and learn. He was old and in poor health, but Bob was content.

 

In April 2007, Bob's long adventure ended when he had a heart attack and later died at a local hospital. Ever the clown and wise guy, Bob had decided before his death that he wanted two headstones -- one with Ruth's family plot and one with his own family. So, he got his wish. Ruth and Bob are technically in two places, which will likely lead to great confusion for future family researchers. Bob will be a pill for generations to come, and I like that.

 

I wish I could say that I met Bob, but I missed him by three years. A few months ago, my mom gave me Bess's old family albums with images of her siblings from the 1920's and 30's (when she was still on good terms with them). I loved the photos so much that I started looking around for lost relatives, and, as you know from the beginning of this long story, I found them. One relative told me that all of Bob's personal belongings were stored in a basement at Ruth's niece's house in St. Louis, so I called the niece and offered to help her sort through Bob's things to take back to members of the Griffin family. She happily obliged me, and I came away with Bob's stories, poems, photos, diaries, business papers, baby clothes and book, briefcase, etc., along with all of Bert, Sadie, and Carol's papers and photos.

 

Somehow, I ended up with quite a collection of Griffin ephemera, which is odd considering I never knew them, and the rest of the family is happy to just have copies of the photos and that's it. So, I am the keeper of all things Bob (and Bert, Sadie, and Carol), and I feel very lucky, indeed. I will take good care of him and ensure that the person in the next generation who gets Bob will take good care of him, too.

Done