Cap'n Rob
This is my buddy, Rob, who recently passed away (November 22, 2024) The kids at the school called in Cap'n Rob. I posted some pictures of him before, but they were all from concerts we had attended. He is actin' the fool in most of the shots. I am glad I came across this one. I knew I had taken it, but I simply could not remember when. He was my building engineer when I was principal at a local school. I took this of him in my office. It's one of the few pictures I have of him where is acting normal. A few weeks ago we had a memorial of life celebration among mutual friends. I gave the eulogy. It is below. Reach out to the ones you care about. Tomorrow is not guaranteed.
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I stand here today to remember and honor my dear friend and former colleague, Robert Marvin Helton—though to me, he was simply Rob. Rob was the building manager at the school where I served as principal, but more importantly, he was my friend. At first glance, we seemed like an unlikely pair, different in many ways—except for one major connection: our love of music, especially live music.
I can’t even begin to count how many shows we saw together, how many memories we made, and how much fun we had. And through those experiences, I came to know the real Rob. Beneath his rough exterior was a kind, if fractured, soul. He had been through tough times, but he was a survivor. With the support of friends, he overcame many of the struggles life threw his way.
Unfortunately, his health declined in recent years, forcing him into retirement. I regret not seeing him as much as I would have liked, something that deeply saddens me now. Still, we kept in touch, and I had the chance to speak with him just before his quadruple bypass surgery. He had been in the hospital before, determined to make changes, and he did—but sometimes, the damage is already done. His heart wasn’t strong enough to recover, and after nearly two weeks in intensive care, he left us on November 22nd.
Losing Rob hurts. I’ll miss his voice, his laugh, and the way he could turn any situation into something funny. Even now, my toughest moments come when I hear a song or remember a concert we attended together. One of my favorite memories is from a Machine Head concert, where I was standing in line to meet the band. Rob, looking every bit the overworked roadie he appeared to be, just started helping the crew move equipment. He strolled right into the venue, no ticket or pass needed, and by the time I got inside, he was already waiting for me by the stage. I told him he owed me for the ticket he never used—but, of course, he just bought the drinks instead.
That was Rob. He had a way of making every experience a little wilder, a little funnier, and a whole lot more memorable. He loved to mess with me, landing kidney punches when I least expected them, just so he could watch me retaliate. He also loved to tell people I was the "coolest boss and principal in the world." I wasn’t. But that was just Rob, always hyping up the people he cared about.
Rob and I shared so many great times—like the nights at Gas Monkey Live, where we somehow got upgraded to VIP more than once. We even met Richard Rawlings at a Dwight Yoakam show. Those places are gone now, just like Rob, but the memories remain.
To those who knew him longer than I did, I can only imagine how deeply his absence is felt. But in the time I had with him, we had fun.
Rob, you insufferable pain in the arse—I’m going to miss you horribly. Rest easy, my friend.
Cap'n Rob
This is my buddy, Rob, who recently passed away (November 22, 2024) The kids at the school called in Cap'n Rob. I posted some pictures of him before, but they were all from concerts we had attended. He is actin' the fool in most of the shots. I am glad I came across this one. I knew I had taken it, but I simply could not remember when. He was my building engineer when I was principal at a local school. I took this of him in my office. It's one of the few pictures I have of him where is acting normal. A few weeks ago we had a memorial of life celebration among mutual friends. I gave the eulogy. It is below. Reach out to the ones you care about. Tomorrow is not guaranteed.
--------------------
I stand here today to remember and honor my dear friend and former colleague, Robert Marvin Helton—though to me, he was simply Rob. Rob was the building manager at the school where I served as principal, but more importantly, he was my friend. At first glance, we seemed like an unlikely pair, different in many ways—except for one major connection: our love of music, especially live music.
I can’t even begin to count how many shows we saw together, how many memories we made, and how much fun we had. And through those experiences, I came to know the real Rob. Beneath his rough exterior was a kind, if fractured, soul. He had been through tough times, but he was a survivor. With the support of friends, he overcame many of the struggles life threw his way.
Unfortunately, his health declined in recent years, forcing him into retirement. I regret not seeing him as much as I would have liked, something that deeply saddens me now. Still, we kept in touch, and I had the chance to speak with him just before his quadruple bypass surgery. He had been in the hospital before, determined to make changes, and he did—but sometimes, the damage is already done. His heart wasn’t strong enough to recover, and after nearly two weeks in intensive care, he left us on November 22nd.
Losing Rob hurts. I’ll miss his voice, his laugh, and the way he could turn any situation into something funny. Even now, my toughest moments come when I hear a song or remember a concert we attended together. One of my favorite memories is from a Machine Head concert, where I was standing in line to meet the band. Rob, looking every bit the overworked roadie he appeared to be, just started helping the crew move equipment. He strolled right into the venue, no ticket or pass needed, and by the time I got inside, he was already waiting for me by the stage. I told him he owed me for the ticket he never used—but, of course, he just bought the drinks instead.
That was Rob. He had a way of making every experience a little wilder, a little funnier, and a whole lot more memorable. He loved to mess with me, landing kidney punches when I least expected them, just so he could watch me retaliate. He also loved to tell people I was the "coolest boss and principal in the world." I wasn’t. But that was just Rob, always hyping up the people he cared about.
Rob and I shared so many great times—like the nights at Gas Monkey Live, where we somehow got upgraded to VIP more than once. We even met Richard Rawlings at a Dwight Yoakam show. Those places are gone now, just like Rob, but the memories remain.
To those who knew him longer than I did, I can only imagine how deeply his absence is felt. But in the time I had with him, we had fun.
Rob, you insufferable pain in the arse—I’m going to miss you horribly. Rest easy, my friend.