My Uncle Bob

Recently, a relative of mine asked me if I was named after my uncle. Well, the story goes like this. My dad had my mom call up my aunt asking to speak to my uncle. You see, my dad didn’t know how to use the telephone. When my mom got my uncle on the line she said,

“Raymond wants to ask you something,” then she handed the phone to my dad who said,

“Are you gonna use the name 'Robert'?”

Uncle Bob said, “No.”

Them my father hung up. And that’s how I was named after my uncle.

For my whole life I referred to my dad's brother as my uncle. Growing up I didn’t know it was possible to have more than one uncle because I knew only one, and he was from Massachusetts. I also thought Massachusetts was very far away from Rhode Island for the same reason.

My uncle was my godfather and as such he often was a father figure in my life. When our oldest, Aidan, was in grade school, my aunt and uncle each year attended Grandparent’s Day. Often parents came up to me afterwards and said,

“My father and your father had such a wonderful conversation. He said your father is so interesting.”

My uncle was very engaging. When he met someone for the first time, he would ask them about themselves, and he would listen. I didn’t bother to tell the other parents that he wasn’t my father.

Back in 2001, my uncle stood in for my father when I wanted to go to Long Island to visit my grandfather's grave. Maybe it was because he was a WWI veteran, or because we shared the same last name or the mysterious circumstances of his death, my grandfather always intrigued me. Not my father though. He hated his dad, and I heard it many times growing up. His father had abandoned my dad and his brothers, Robert and Ronnie. He deserted my grandmother, Nativa, in the middle of the Great Depression leaving her to raise three boys on her own. My dad always said his father was a drunk who never sent any money home, which caused the boys and their mom to move around a lot because, as my father used to say, "they had to stay one step ahead of the landlord."

So I cooked up this well intentioned, stupid idea to find out where my grandfather was buried then take my dad there so he could "experience closure." Two days before we were to leave he called to say that he wasn't going. Back in 1938 after my grandfather was pulled from the Hudson River in New York City, my dad was on his way to the service in a car driven by my cousin's father in the middle of a hurricane. There wasn't enough room for Bob so he and his little brother stayed with their maternal grandmother who spoke only French. When the power went out, Bob was sent to the corner store to buy kerosene. His grandmother gave him two mason jars to carry the flammable liquid back to their house. Bob struggled to hold the jars until one fell to the ground. My uncle told me that story a few years ago, the disappointment still in his voice for being incapable of steading the jars in his eight year old hands during a Category 3 hurricane.

My father was more excited to go on a trip to New York than upset over his father's death. His callous attitude angered his mother who exclaimed,

"That's your father!"

Now my dad was reliving that event. He told me that he initially agreed to go because he wanted to go on a trip. The wounds of abandonment were so deep that he refused to join me, his only son, on a pilgrimage to honor my grandfather. I was bitter even though I knew it was a very rare thing for my dad to choose himself over one of his children. The next day, my uncle called to say that he would like to go. He had never been to his dad's grave. The following day Uncle Bob stayed with us in a house we were renting in Groton, Connecticut. The next morning we got on the ferry to Long Island.

On the trip over my uncle was very animated. He told stories about going to parks and the beach with his dad and mother and brothers. They were happy stories. Stories I never heard before. My uncle explained that back then during the depression there were no stimulus checks. The government expected families to pull together and lift the country out of the economic crisis brought on by the Great Depression. He told me that his father joined the Works Progress Administration (WPA) which required him to leave his family to build roads and bridges in other parts of the country.

Being on a ship even as a passenger reminded my uncle of his days in the navy. He talked of his adventures in the military when he was a younger man. The ferry's engines droned on as we crossed the sound on our journey to honor a soldier in our family. My grandfather was so proud of his military service that he always kept his honorable discharge papers in his pocket. My father showed me the documents when I was a kid. As he pointed to the water stains, he told me that the police used these papers to identify his father's body after he was pulled from the river. 

When the ferry docked in Montauk, we offloaded my car then drove to a train station to pick up my uncle's oldest son, Ron. After we all ate lunch, we made our way to the cemetery. Being three men, we didn't ask for directions. Using a folded map, we eventually found the cemetery. We didn't ask anyone how to get to the section of the cemetery we sought either. After a bit of wandering we located my grandfather's grave. I read on the marker that he was a cook in the army during World War I. After some time my uncle told us to go for a walk so he could be alone. We strolled a short distance away while admiring the grounds. When I looked back at my uncle, he was standing before his father's gravestone and saying something. I couldn't hear him, but I assumed he was reciting the Lord's Prayer. As I watched, my uncle came to attention and saluted his father.

We returned to the car, got Ron back on the train then drove to Montauk to board the ferry. On the way back, gone was the man full of stories. My uncle stared stoically out the window as the ferry plowed the sound. I wondered what he was thinking about. Was he remembering his life with his father and his mother and brothers? Or perhaps he was recalling his wife, Corinne, and their four boys they raised in Massachusetts. Maybe he was reminiscing about his lifelong friend, Don Verrier, who he met in kindergarten. Still yet, he might have been musing about his navy buddy, Bob Zimmerman, who served with him on the USS Missouri during the Korean War. My uncle looked to me and said,

"You know, I have to tell you something. Of all the people in our family, you were the only one interested in finding your grandfather."

My uncle was thinking about me. He continued,

"Family is important. You know, you''ll do a lot of dumb things in your life, and all you can hope for is that your family will forgive you."

My uncle did not live a life of less hardship, struggle or disappointment than my father. The difference is he forgave his dad, and that was his lesson to me.

Editor's Note: Robert's uncle passed away on March 8, 2022. He lived a full life of 92 years.