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Over the past few weeks I’ve had to delve into Rob’s files and papers for various information, and in the process have also uncovered many boxes of old photos, letters, and other memorabilia. It seems that he saved many of the letters not only from his family after he moved to the left coast, but also those from old girlfriends (mostly rather amusing, but potentially embarrassing). Although over the years I heard many stories of his life before we met, these photos and letters have led me to a deeper understanding of how he developed into the person I knew and loved. What a gift.
I could use some help identifying boats and people!
All friends and family are invited to attend Rob’s Celebration of Life on February 12th from 2 to 5 pm at Corinthian Yacht Club in Tiburon.
Casual attire please, no ties allowed! For the sailors, crew shirts are encouraged, maybe even one of those old ones in the back of the closet from a boat you sailed on with Rob.
We will have a few prearranged speakers, and an open mike for people to share memories of Rob – not an easy thing to do for most people – but it would be great to hear some of your stories. Anyone who wants to be sure to have some speaking time should contact me in advance if possible. Rob’s email is still active, so you can use that if you don’t have my email address (not something I want to put on this public blog).
Three weeks. It seems like yesterday, and yet it seems like a long time ago. Rob wanted me to keep feeding the blog, as long as it didn’t end up being about minutiae such as what I ate for dinner (he actually specifically said “no food,” and it took me a while to figure our what he meant). So in keeping with our focus on living a full life, and providing entertainment and education along the way, I’ll try to keep it going.
I’m finally getting the courage to get out of the house and engage in the world again – at least a little. Thanks to Hank for three outings on the bay: a nice Bay sail on Yucca with his daughter Jan; an excursion to the Farallons on the Joy with Mike, John and Jo Ann, complete with whales; and an exciting CYC midwinter race last Saturday. Saturday was no midwinter drifter! 25+ kts, a broken vang, backstay problems, a torn kite, and good friends definitely provided much needed distractions. Still, it’s sad to no longer have Rob to share these experiences with.
Grey whales and lots of seals at the Farallons!
This area close to shore must have been a good feeding ground since the whales (2?) stayed in the area the entire time we were there.
Rocking and rolling with Dr. Joe, Charlie, Hank, and Peter on the downwind leg to Blossom Rock.
Honoring Rob. (Thanks to Vicki for the pennant!)
I was surprised how stressful it is to see friends again for the first time, and it’s hard to know how to respond to the condolences. Grief is a complex thing — there are so many different emotional and even physical aspects — and I can’t predict what’s going to trigger any of them. I guess that’s one of the things that makes us uniquely human. Hospice by the Bay provided some very useful information (available on their website) that helped me understand what to expect. It will be a long process.
I also know that it’s difficult for friends to know how to respond — I’ve experienced the awkwardness that can come with giving condolences. I do appreciate everyone who has written or called even though I haven’t begun to respond. Your sentiments and caring mean more to me than you can imagine. One resource that has some helpful insights is Supporting a Grieving Person.
Oh, here come the tears again. I’m really missing my co-author, proof-reader and best friend.
A celebration of Rob’s life will be held on the afternoon of Sunday, February 12th at the Corinthian Yacht Club in Tiburon, CA. More details as soon as I have them.
I don’t know where to begin to describe the touching emails and letters I’ve been receiving. Thank you. I’d like to share a few of the online tributes:
- Rob’s friends and former colleagues at Latitude 38 wrote a nice piece and included some fun photos.
- Jim Gregory has added a post to his Morpheus blog.
- Our dear friend Linnea has added her sentiments to her blog.
- MERDE (another story) co-founder Mike Wallach shares his thoughts.
- Norcal Sailing has photos from the weekend’s midwinters including Sunday’s SYC regatta which was dedicated to Rob.
- From Rob’s dear friend Tom “the Curmudgeon” Leweck in Monday’s Scuttlebutt.
EIGHT BELLS
Last Friday the sailing community learned that Rob Moore had lost his
courageous battle with lung cancer. He passed away peacefully at his home
in Mill Valley, California, surrounded by his family. The outpouring of
comments on Facebook provides some insight into the loss people felt:
– “A ‘good one’ has left the room.”
– “Sailing in San Francisco just got a lot less friendly.”
– “One of the greats, on and off the water.”
– “A source of much encouragement in my sailing career.”
– “Always interested in others, their lives, and their perspective.”
– “Never had more fun sailing then a late night watch with Rob!”
– “A prince among men and always helpful, not to mention genuine.”
– “Treasured and wonderful memories.”
– “Probably one of the nicest, kindest men I would ever call my friend.”
– “One of the nicest people on Earth.”
– “TRULY one of the good ones!”
Many people got to know Rob through the racing column that he wrote for
Latitude 38 for 18 years. San Francisco Bay was where Rob honed his racing
skills, and those skills coupled with his unfaltering enthusiasm opened up
endless opportunities for him to sail on high-end programs all over the
world. Offshore to Hawaii, Mexican races a plenty, the Caribbean, the Med a
bunch, Europe, the East Coast – Rob did it all.
But there is little doubt that the unending stream of race invitations he
received had as much to do with who Rob was, as they did with the obvious
skills he brought to any program. He was warm and caring, with solid values
and not a trace of ego. Rob always made you feel like you were the most
important person in the room. Always – which probably has a lot to do with
why so many of us will forever cherish the memories of time we spent with
him – both on and off the water.
Rob was 58 – far too young to be taken from us, and from his very devoted
wife, Leslie Richter. Perhaps Laura Priest said it best in her Facebook
posting, “Rob – the world was a better place with you in it!” – Tom Leweck
From Marnie, Rob’s sister and favorite (only) sibling. The ability to write definitely runs in the family!
You see, little sister...
When Rob moved to California 33 years ago, I missed him terribly. I was sure that he would eventually come to his senses and leave this place (where people seemed to care more about what kind of car you drove than who you were) and come home to the East Coast. But as I visited him in the Bay Area year after year, I began to realize that he had found the perfect place, a place with stunning beauty, high-powered sailing, excellent hiking, and a world-class city. More importantly, I saw how many great friends he had made here, and it finally dawned on me that home for Rob meant the Bay Area. Luckily for me, he had a very flexible work schedule at Latitude and there happens to be a bit of decent sailing near me in Newport, Rhode Island, so he came to visit me often and we always remained very close.
Rob was a great collector of friends and experiences. He didn’t care much about material possessions, except the ones necessary to further his passions: sailing, hiking, camping, kayaking, travel and general outdoor adventures. He valued money only to the extent that it would enable him to have a retirement full of these adventures. He didn’t care about what kind of car he drove, and was teased mercilessly about his first car, a used Fiat. (Until recently he drove a Jeep with manual windows, and only bought his first new car at the age of 56 because he wanted Leslie to be comfortable.) Rob had degrees from two Ivy League universities but he didn’t care about having a Master of the Universe career. He wanted to do what he loved and was exceptionally good at—sailing and writing—and still have time to pursue outdoor activities, to travel, and especially to have adventures with his friends, all of which made life endlessly interesting to him.
I always thought Rob and I would grow old together, now that he had retired and my children had grown up. We talked about taking trips together to our two favorite places, Lopez Island, where he would teach me to kayak, and my cabin in Vermont, where we would hike and snowshoe in the Green Mountains. I figured he would try to drag me out on a sailboat (he was appalled that I never took to sailing despite our shared upbringing on boats) and I would try to drag him back to downhill skiing (you may not know that he was a beautiful skier in his youth—graceful, fluid, fast and fearless). When our aging knees would fail us, we would sit together by our woodstoves in Lopez and Vermont, and read everything in sight. So many books, so little time. We talked often over the past two years about how sad we were that this shared vision of our geezer-hood would never come to pass. But I take a lot of comfort in knowing that Rob led a great life, the life he wanted and purposefully constructed for himself. He treasured Leslie, his family, and all of you, his many friends in California and all over the country. I thank all of you for your friendships with him, since you became his extended family when his own very small family was 3000 miles away.
In his final weeks, Rob told me more than once to make sure I “keep moving” for the rest of my life, and keep challenging myself. “If you don’t challenge yourself, what’s the point?” he asked in September when I expressed concerns about my ability to climb one of the toughest trails in Vermont, the Hellbrook Trail which runs straight up the chin of Mt. Mansfield. I climbed that trail few weeks later, hearing his voice in my head the whole treacherous way up. He was right, and I intend to keep taking his advice. I plan to keep hiking for him, to keep skiing and snowshoeing and cross-country skiing, to keep swimming in the rivers and exploring the great outdoors that he loved. The sailing I will leave to the rest of you.
During his endless rounds of chemo, radiation, needles and scans, Rob and I often invoked a favorite poem by Langston Hughes:
Still Here
I have been scarred and battered.
My hopes the wind done scattered.
Snow has friz me,
Sun has baked me,
Looks like between ‘em they done
Tried to make me
Stop laughin’, stop lovin’, stop livin’…..
But I don’t care!
I’m still here!
Rob is still here, and always will be, in my heart and in the hearts of everyone who loved him.
It is with a heavy heart that I let you know that Rob passed away peacefully this afternoon at home, surrounded by his family. Even the cat was on the bed.
Thank you to everyone who wrote to us with wonderful stories from your good times together. We read each and every note to him, and he was very touched (as were we all). And for all of you who also love “Desert Solitaire”, you should know that Marnie was reading it aloud to him in the minutes before he left us.
We are a little overwhelmed right now, so it would be good to hold off on calling. We will be planning a celebration of life in the not too distant future, so stay tuned.
Last night I asked Rob about his favorite books. He quickly responded “Desert Solitaire” by Edward Abbey. Although his career and most free time was dedicated to the sport of sailing, spending time in the wilderness fed Rob’s soul. In addition to Mt. Tam and other nearby hiking grounds such as Yosemite, Rob relished his trips to southwest Utah to visit his friend Steve Rubey. They enjoyed hiking in some of Abbey’s former stomping grounds in the parks near Moab, where Abbey had been a park ranger. When Rob and I started dating, we planned a trip to Moab — he wanted to show me some of his favorite places and introduce me to the magic of the red rocks, slick rock, and Indian ruins. But first, he told me I had to read Desert Solitaire. It wasn’t the first book Rob recommended to me (that was The Kite Runner), but now I realize that it was the most important.
So for New Year’s, at Rob’s request, we leave you with a quote from the preface to the 1988 edition of Desert Solitaire…
“Benedicto: May your trails be crooked, winding, lonesome, dangerous, leading to the most amazing view. May your mountains rise into and above the clouds. May your rivers flow without end, meandering through pastoral valleys tinkling with bells, past temples and castles and poets’ towers into a dark primeval forest where tigers belch and monkeys howl, through miasmal and mysterious swamps and down into a desert of red rock, blue mesas, domes and pinnacles and grottos of endless stone, and down again into a deep vast ancient unknown chasm where bars of sunlight blaze on profiled cliffs, where deer walk across the white sand beaches, where storms come and go as lightning clangs upon the high crags, where something strange and more beautiful and more full of wonder than your deepest dreams waits for you — beyond that next turning of the canyon walls.”
Edward Abbey
…and a few memories from Abbey land.
Leslie's Adventures 