From Michael Townsend, Port Townsend, Washington

Bob was living in an old trolley car on South Strand street when I, a

greenhorn Hoosier teenager, showed up in the early seventies. Red Bex had

his boxing club and a mule - all kinds of characters floated through that

neighborhood (hello Jenson). I heard those hobo ninjas Dobro Dick and

Fiddlin' Red, met up with Gary Mundon (RIP) at the Park Hotel and generally

enjoyed Missoula's creative underbelly.

    After doing business between Missoula and the Flathead Valley (hello

Marco), I moved up to the valley and eventually wound up playing guitar in

most of the roadhouses and dancehalls of NW Montana, with three years hard

labor at the Blue Moon. Bob and his posse would roll through occasionally

and kidnap me for a road trip to Chico, Livingston, even Indiana and Ohio.

Remember his old Dodge with a glove on the windshield wiper?

    After moving to Seattle, then to Port Townsend, I didn't see Bob as often.

But of course he would show up unexpectedly in the most unlikely places,

always with laughter, intriguing new ideas and amazing stories. When

visiting his folks up the road in Sequim, he sometimes visited PT, where we

would stroll about town and admire the dry-stacked stone walls.

    Didn't Bob inspire everyone around him to laugh harder and think deeper? He

got me reading that damn David Hawkins book, so now I strive to calibrate my

vibrations up towards his levels of Duddhahood. Guess I was just one of many

who loved him madly.

    Remember Bob with these words from White Eagle, 'cause the shoe surely

fits...

    When you're born, you cry and the world rejoices

    Live your life so that when you die

    The world cries and you rejoice

   Michael Townsend
Port Townsend, Washington

Bob Hiking at Tamanowas Rock