The Oppenheimer Report 4/23/18

Bob Miller Jr. and I

Last week, I got the call that the father of one of my oldest friends had passed on. “Captain Bob” Miller, as one of my other Buffalo friends nicknamed him, was unanimously voted “coolest dad” when we were all just neighborhood rug rats. I didn’t really get to know “Big Bob”, as I called him (my friend is Bob Jr.) until I was into my early teens, but he was legendary in our neighborhood for being a lot of fun to be around. He was funny, irreverent, sometimes naughty, and he somehow tapped in to the inner scofflaw mentality of the kids in our neighborhood. Big Bob had a lot of boy in him, right up until the end. He had a deep and abiding love for high performance cars, and if you caught a ride with “Big Bob”, it was likely in some exotic high performance American muscle car, or one of the many Porsches he owned over the years. From those early days, I remember a very hot red Camaro RS SS and an amply powered fastback Plymouth Barracuda. I thought my friend was the luckiest son in the world, because he got to drive many of these hot cars. Bob Sr. also loved boats, but he was a sailor and his son and I are both motor boaters. This was a constant source of contention, because everyone knows sailors and “stink-potters” don’t see eye to eye. To attend a boat show with Big Bob and Bob Jr. was interesting.

When we were kids, all the families in our Buffalo neighborhood knew each other, and many of them socialized. Buffalo was, in my opinion, a great party town, and our parents were great mentors in the art of celebration. One thing I distinctly remember about Big Bob in the early days was his propensity to wear the most garish, ridiculous pants, sporting bizarre designs. It seemed like the mission was to find the most outrageous color combinations and designs to establish oneself as the life of the party (or the person with the worst taste in clothing).

As I did, my friend Bob Jr. eventually went into the family business, and he worked for his father for many years. I can’t speak for my friend, but I can say that working for my father was one of the most rewarding experiences of my life. While I hated the real estate business, I valued the lessons learned by watching my father conduct business. I saw a different side of my dad as a businessman, and I learned a lot about life from him in this environment. I suspect Bob Jr. would say the same about his dad.

Now, my friend and I are in our 60s and we have both had the experience of watching our fathers slowly fade away. Big Bob had passed the nonagenarian mark before he passed, and my dad died just short of his 99^th birthday. It is a strange thing to watch your parents age, because they become exponentially more “mortal” as time passes. I always relied on my parents for emotional support and guidance, but near the end, I was charged with taking care of them. I never really did let go of the notion that my mom and dad were bigger than life. Then they died. No matter when that happens in life, when you’ve had good parents, it is a shock.

Last Saturday, Bob Jr. and I met when he brought me up some dog food supplies which I can only purchase in the States. We met and had lunch together on the waterfront in Burlington,  and we talked about the weird finality of saying farewell to a parent. It is no tragedy to lose one’s parent to old age; in fact we were both blessed to have had our fathers around for as long as we did. Big Bob had physically deteriorated in his last years, as did my dad, but to the end, and also like my dad, he had his wits about him. As my friend Bob said somewhat sadly, it’s strange to think that he will never have another phone call with his dad again, never sit down and have a meal with him, never be able to rely on his advice. Even stranger, now we are the adults. While none of our parents are or were perfect, they shaped us into the people we become, and regardless of their faults, my parents and most of my friends’ parents did a pretty good job keeping us on the straight and narrow.

I inherited a necktie from my dad when he died, and on it was the repeating design of little exhibitionist opening his raincoat. If I can find it, I think I’ll wear it to the funeral ceremony. I’m pretty sure Big Bob would approve.

   

            - Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2018 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED