In
January 2016, Bobby and I had a conversation that led me to writing him an
unpublished blog. This is an updated (and now-published) version of that and what I read at his memorial service, May 2016.
Everything
I love about tennis has to do with Bobby.
But
not everything I love about Bobby has to do with tennis.
For
years, I took his clinic every Thursday morning, but it wasn't until he got
sick that we became close.
One
of our first conversations after his diagnosis went something like this:
Me:
You have quite the Howard County female fan club.
Him:
You think I'd have gotten a date out of it at some point.
Me:
You're straight?
Him:
You thought I was gay?
Me:
Well how else could you possibly understand women so well?
We
laughed about that a million other things. But it was through many hours at
chemo, dozens of lunches and countless chats that we covered some serious and
real topics.
He
told me that when he realized he wasn't going to be able to come back to work,
he was crushed. He said making that phone call to finalize his retirement was
one of the hardest things he ever had to do. It meant the end of a nearly
20-year career.
Bobby
was proud of the extraordinarily faithful clientele he'd built, but he turned
to me with a perplexed look on his face and asked -- what's my legacy? I hope
it's not that I fought cancer for a year and that's it. I told him of course
not and then made some stupid joke about him being SO private that some people
weren't even sure he was actually sick.
But
it got me thinking about Bobby's legacy.
I've
been fortunate enough that he shared with me some of the handwritten cards and
letters his kids had given him for Father's Day, his birthday and Christmas.
Not only are they gifted writers, but clearly as kind, sensitive, charming,
tuned-in, funny and empathetic as their dad. His legacy to his kids is evident
even to an onlooker like me.
But
his legacy to the men and women --overwhelmingly women-- of CA tennis is
something remarkable too.
Bobby's
harem of housewives, myself included, is a fellowship of short-skirted groupies
who drank the Kool-Aid of loosen your grip and go down the middle. We keep on
our toes, split step if we can, knowing full well if we send a ball into the
net, we were still likely to hear "I don't care, I love it!" A ball
that lands in a neighboring court could get a "I like what you're trying
to do". And if you caught him on a particularly feisty day and got him to
exclaim "Ole", you knew you were going to get your money's worth and
more.
We've
all been on the receiving end of these one-liners, but to me, Bobby's best
quality was to put his clients at ease. I always felt better about myself on
the way out of clinic than on the way in. How many people in your life have you
met that you can say this about? He believed so much in us that we ended up
believing more in ourselves. Even if we couldn't hit a winner all
day.
He
told me that on at least 100 occasions, clients have come to a lesson and ended
up hitting no balls. A tennis lesson with zero hitting! They just wanted to
talk. Could be about work. Or their families or a hideous match they played
last night. And Bobby being Bobby, listened attentively, patted a shoulder,
offered a tissue or laughed in all the right places. He said the things we all want
to hear from our best friends, husbands, shrinks and tennis pros.
Like
many others, I texted Bobby for advice before nearly every match. The wording
changed from week to week, but the message always had one constant element --
I'm right there on your shoulder. I'm with you.
When
it was clear Bobby was getting sicker, I asked him what he thought about giving
me one of his old racquets as a memento. Just anything laying around was fine.
The next time I saw him he handed me a ratty old, beat up, burgundy racquet
with busted strings. As he handed it to me, he said, "This is the racquet
I played with in college.”
I
told him I can’t take that.
He
said, “I want you to have it because well, you give a shit. I was worried that
you might stop playing, but I'm so glad you are going to continue." He was
referring to me giving up tennis altogether when it was clear he'd not be able
to come back. And of all the things we'd talked about, this was a topic I'd
avoided, feeling it was just too raw and painful to discuss. But Bobby
being Bobby -- so intuitive, so tuned in -- knew just where my head was. So of
course I accepted that racquet because he chose it for me and well, I guess I
do give a shit.
And
that's his legacy. He is all the best things about tennis and being a
friend. No, not everything I love about Bobby is tennis, but some of it sure
is.
