Bob Stories II

Daughter Givhan:

Some deep thoughts about O.F. (Our Father)

Robert Henry Williams III, was a pianist, singer, woodsman, hunter/fisher, walker, husband and father.

Givhan, Kip, and Bob on the Olympic Peninsula in 2016.

When he had a recital of his piano students, he’d always play something beautiful for his audience. The Musical Arts Conservatory in Fort Collins, Colorado, brought him friends for life.

He transmitted his love of the mountains to his children. I am grateful to have inherited his “walking” gene, although when he’d take us up into the hills I never accompanied him on his rambles. The music gene was working on the drives home, though; his children inevitably sang during the journey.

As he became older, in his 70s and 80s, I admired his social and creative life. He had many friends in Kerrville, Texas, where he also taught music, built cool boats, and even became part of a wood whittling group. He also cared for our mother, who was suffering from dementia.

I’m glad he was an inspiration, happy for his life, and happy that he has been released to the next adventure. May he rest in peace.

Bob and Lukie in a prairie schooner for an historical recreation circa 1949.

Brother Don: 

Bob was a diligent and enthusiastic Boy Scout. He was within one merit badge of his Eagle rank when, in mid-May of 1943, he turned eighteen and immediately went into the Army Air Corps. A good pianist already, taught by our  mother, he spent most of his Army career playing the piano for the troops. He had tried to be, among other things, a navigator, but his hereditary absentmindedness washed him out: he kept forgetting to do the easy chore of calculating and reporting the plane’s position every ten minutes.

 Often he and I went hiking and camping in the mountains near Denver. Once, Bob cut poles for a lean-to and thatched them with fir boughs, legal activities in those days. He propped the poles against a large boulder, thatched them with fir boughs, and built a fire there. Though it was close to zero, we slept warmly on our deep bough bed that night.  

After the war, Bob used the G.I. Bill of Rights to enroll in the Lamont School of Music at Denver University. He found a place for himself and me to live while both of us were in college: the attic of an orthodox Jewish mortuary, Feldman’s. In return for the free lodging, we would answer the phone at night. Calls weren’t frequent, but when one came in, one of us could earn a dollar by going along to help load and unload. We often did so. A dollar meant something, and we were always considerately given the foot-end to carry.

Bob and Kip, both delighted to be there. California, 1958

Son Kip:

Dad used to provide music for the Larimer County Rodeo held at the Fair each year. Bob Kyle would provide an organ–in my memory, it’s a theater organ with three ranks and pedals, and maybe it was–which would be hauled up into the stands, and Dad would sit up there, behind the audience at the northwest corner of the stands with a fake book or two, bookmarked with paper clips, and play musical commentary on the action below. “I’m An Old Cowhand From The Rio Grande” figured large, and other standards like “Don’t Fence Me In” or “Buttons and Bows” or that perennial favorite, “Ragtime Cowboy Joe.” I may have been prouder of his prowess at such times than any others, though I also appreciated his stints accompanying dinner theater, pinch-hitting at Shakey’s Family Pizza Parlor, and as rehearsal pianist for musicals and operas at Colorado State University. There’s magic in summoning up the right musical score for unpredictable, unscripted events happening in real time. Way to go, Dad!

At the UU Church in Kerrville in a music service with Kathryn and Caitlin

Daughter Martha:

Everyone liked my dad. He knew a lot about a lot He was charming and genuine and an entertaining storyteller. He discovered the piano as a child, and his mother, an accomplished pianist, gave him his first lessons. He became a prodigy and performed with his sister, Linda, a violinist, and his brother Don, a tenor.

Dad graduated from Northwestern with a Masters degree in Piano Performance. He kindly passed the musical gene along to all his children, as well as teaching many college classes as well as private lessons, for many years. (He drifted away from his last student when he went into Bishop Noa at age 95. KWM)

Several times, people have approached and told me how much my dad influenced them and taught them SO much about music. He would be pleased!

Ah, brave youth! I would not stick my fingers in that woman’s mouth! 8-13-49 KWM

Sister Linda:

Bob was my hero as I grew up. My first memory of him was his comforting presence at my bedside when I was 7 years old and suffering from Scarlet Fever. (He was taking a brief leave from the Army Air Corps, no doubt.) After the war, Dad, Mom and I moved to Denver from Colorado Springs so that Dad could work on the Denver Post. Of course, Bob and Don were also there, staying at Feldman’s Mortuary while Bob attended Lamont School of Music, and I used to listen raptly to his practice.

I had grown up listening to Mom’s playing and took it for granted at the time (although I have brought it lovingly back to mind uncountable times since), but here was my big brother playing those crashing chords and flashy runs. And he was handsome! I imagined him marrying Patrice Munsel or some other famous singer. 

Three matching dresses of blue taffeta while she was 9 months pregnant! After she died, Dad often said how lucky he was to have had Mom for his partner. 1956

I saw Bob again when he visited us in California and spent hours on daily practice – to my delight. After we moved to Santa Ana, Bob and Lukie found a house for their growing family, and he and I started playing together and giving recitals. How convenient! I’ve missed that opportunity many times since.

Bob played for my wedding on December 15, 1956, and that night he burst into our parents’ bedroom and said, “Guess who just had a 9-pound, 4 ounce BOY!” Of course, Kathryn, Martha and Givhan were flower girls. Lukie had made matching dresses for them right into her ninth month of pregnancy, then went to the hospital instead of the wedding.

Dad at Rocky Mountain National Park. The prize-winning photo was taken by Martha’s late husband Drew, the wonderful Andrew C Nichols.

Thanks to all those who contributed words and pictures to these Bob Stories blogs. There are more to come.
Kip and Liberty sent the photos for today’s blog, while Kip and Martha had the ones in Bob I. Kip says the photos came to him from others sometimes, but in large boxes without attribution – sorry if we missed you! Leave your Bob stories in the comments, or email me. Thanks again!