Rob       Remembered

There are those who are destined to excel. Gifted with abilities that propel them forward, they achieve success at virtually every challenge undertaken. They are driven by boundless energy that is both intellectual and physical. They apply themselves to acquire the knowledge of a profession and then wield it as deftly as skilled marksmen finding the center of the target with each shot. They shape what is around them, bringing structure to events otherwise governed by uncertainty or chaos. And while they go about exercising their professional skills, they retain the essential humanist qualities to befriend strangers and disarm those who would be adversaries. They are not supermen; rather they are torches in our lives that show us what we can achieve when we make the most of our abilities.

Robert Francis Mace, was such a person. He was the second son of a blue-collar family in a small eastern PA industrial town. His mother was a recent immigrant from Germany, his father a former soldier in the US army who met his future bride while on tour in Germany in 1952. Life seldom follows the shortest path between two points and so it was with Wilma Zapf and Kenneth Mace. When Wilma left war-scarred Munich it was not to give her hand to an American soldier. Rather she sought to strike out on her own and see what she had heard about from relatives who had made the trans Atlantic journey to the US. An uncle had taken up residence in Philadelphia and that was her initial stop in coming to America in October 1953. But a young girl’s longing to be with peers and the lure of a large, young and vibrant German community soon brought her to New York City in early 1954. By day she served as a housekeeper and nanny for a family residing on Park Avenue. When free evenings came, she joined her German girlfriends in dancing at the Laurelei and Hofbrauhaus dancehalls. There was bustle and energy to life in NYC. But the American soldier she met in her native Germany reentered her life and in 1957 they married and settled in Pottstown, a thriving industrial town, home to such plants as Firestone, Dohler-Jarvis, Neapco, Mrs Smith’s Bakery, Bethlehem Steel, etc.

Home was a converted two-story garage next to Ken’s grandfather and just down the street from his mother and two sisters. It was spartan as the newlyweds had little time to prepare a home before the birth of their first son, Kenneth Jr in September. Eleven months later Robert Francis Mace was born in Pottstown Memorial, the same Georgian style red brick hospital as his older brother.

While Ken worked as a time study at Bethlehem Steel, Wilma raised her two young boys. Her days were hectic as their closeness in age meant that what had to be done for one invariably had to be done for the other; whether it was a diaper change or a feeding or bath time. When time allowed, Wilma wrote to family in Germany as well as her uncle in Philadelphia. Care packages would arrive on holidays and birthdays with candy and cookie treats, traditional German clothing and small toys. Despite being thousands of miles from home, Wilma made certain her boys experienced German customs. Christmas meant the singing of holiday carols in German before one could receive their gifts on Christmas Eve, as she had done as a child in Germany. She taught them simple German greetings such as Gruss Gott, Ich Liebe dich, and Auf Wiedersehen. Much to her good fortune a number of other German girls had married and settled into the area giving her a network of “sisters”.

Making ends meet was a struggle for the young married couple, particularly on the heels of adding two young boys into the mix. Cloth shopping often resulted in buying the same outfit for both boys. While it may have provided certain economies it also had the consequence ( perhaps intentional) of making Rob & Ken appear to be twins. Certainly they shared physical characteristics like most siblings. But even at an early age Rob was the more aggressive and demanding of the two. He didn’t care to be second at anything and usually found a way not to be.

Change creates stress and the rapid pace of change in the Mace family resulted in a deteriorating marital relationship between Ken and Wilma. Ken was staying out more and later, sometimes coming home in an abusive, intoxicated state. The tension escalated to the point of Wilma insisting on a period of separation to let things sort out. Somehow the family had saved enough money to put Wilma and her two sons onto a passenger ship for Germany during the spring of 1962. This was to be a separation of months to see if Ken could rehabilitate himself while the rest of the family gained time and space to heal.

The ocean trip was not without incident. Foul weather caused the ship to pitch and roll during dinner hour one day. Spaghetti was on the menu and both boys dug into the mounds of pasta and sauce on their plates. It wasn’t long before the rolling motion caused the younger Rob to turn pale then announce to his mother that he was about to be sick. And sure enough he was. Little did Rob realize that he had set into motion an unwelcomed event that would not only claim his older brother but also his mother as well in a span of less than 30 minutes.

Passenger ships of the day were just that: they provided a vessel to reach one place from another. They didn’t have the amenities of today’s cruise lines. Consequently there wasn’t much to amuse two rambling and inquisitive boys. Fortunately some of the stewards and maids took pity on the family and provided the boys with a filled bathtub complete with two wind up propeller boats to float across the water.

Wilma’s family in Munich anxiously awaited the arrival of the mother and her two sons, as it was her first visit home since leaving 9 years earlier. Grand parents doted for the first time on their grandsons. Neither understood each other’s language making all but the simplest communication of warm embraces meaningless. But the emersion in German life was total and within weeks two American boys were transformed into German youth complete with Leiderhosen.

Meanwhile back in the US, Ken was attempting to mend fences by moving from the now cramped garage apartment to a duplex located right next door. There would be more room for everyone including the newly purchased bunk beds for the boys once his family return from overseas, if in fact, they did return. Wilma and Ken exchanged letters while the family was apart. Though still uncertain that her husband had changed his ways, Wilma and the boys returned home in the fall of 1962. Six months had passed and the family resettled into the duplex. But any sense of reconcilement was short lived, as Ken was visibly annoyed when neither Ken Jr. or Rob could utter or comprehend a word of English. Ken’s physical and mental abuse of Wilma resumed and within months the couple separated and divorced. Ken remarried within a year but his personal troubles continued and on May 5th 1965 he took his own life.

Wilma also remarried, and on Feb 29th 1964 Ray Stichter became the stepfather to Rob and Ken. This was Ray’s second marriage as well. The couple knew each other from a local fire hall that doubled as a weekend social club. Ray was 9 years Wilma’s senior and had served as a cook and infantryman in the Pacific theater during World War II.

The family took up residence in a small Cape Cod styled home in Pottstown and both boys continued their schooling in St Gabriels Catholic School. Discipline was the mainstay of St Gabriels and both Rob and Ken found themselves running afoul of the nuns more times than what was acceptable to Ray. He was a stern father more apt to use a paddle in molding behavior than a hug. It was not that he didn’t love his children; rather he had difficulty showing emotion. It wasn’t until almost 20 years later that he could tell his boys that he loved them.

While the paddle wasn’t something anyone asked for, it nonetheless created moments of humor. Its appearance defied its purpose. A 30 by 3-inch piece of wood, each end was rounded into a half circle. The paddle was easy to find thanks to the bright yellow enamel finish. But what made the paddle a contradiction of function and appearance were the multicolored flowers hand painted on each of the four ends.

Sometimes the threat of a paddling produced unintended hilarity. Dad deemed Rob guilty of an offense worthy of a dose of corporal punishment. Rob, however. disagreed. As father approached son, Rob stepped backwards from the kitchen into the neighboring dining room. Not wanting son to evade his punishment, Ray lunged forward at Rob hoping to surprise and snarl him in his grasp. Instead the lunge served to push Rob backward onto the dining room table. The sudden pressure at the edge of the table buckled then snapped one of the two barrel legged supports. The table dipped forward, causing items to slide down the slope of the surface. The table had turned so to speak and now it was father that realized he was in deep trouble with his wife when she would learn of the fate of her dining room table. The scene became something out of a Saturday morning cartoon as father chased son around the table. Once, twice they circled. Then Rob found his opening, bolting from the dining room to the living room and up into his bedroom after making certain his suddenly adrenaline stoked father couldn’t cut him off at the pass.

The paddle administered its own brand of justice for years. There was no finer day however than when the yellow board met its demise during an abbreviated visit to Rob’s backside. Though there were other moments that brought out Dad’s wrath the paddle was never reconstituted or recreated. (How can I forget Rob’s pleading to ride the new tractor mower, than seeing my dad’s face grimace in horror as Rob rolled over several newly planted seedlings because he didn’t know where the brake was!)

1965 was a year of many changes for the family. They bought a modest 3-bedroom ranch in rural New Hanover Township. That meant a welcomed change of schools as neither Rob or Ken was particularly fond of St Gabriels Catholic School. The nuns teaching at the school were no less strict than their stepfather with the swat of a ruler substituting for the swing of a yellow paddle. Much to the dismay of the two boys the parents were contemplating enrolling them in the nearby Catholic school. Thanks to intense lobbying by the boys and numerous discussions with their new neighbors over the quality of the local public school, the 2 brothers entered New Hanover Elementary School in the fall.

The change had an almost immediate impact on Rob as his scholastic performance went from mediocre to among the top of his class. Another blessing of the new neighborhood was the presence of other younger families with children of comparable age. The Conklins across the street had two boys and two girls. the Nagy’s had four girls, the oldest being Rob’s age. The Drapers had two boys. The Rices, who moved into the neighborhood shortly after the family had two girls and a boy Mark, who quickly became Rob’s best childhood friend. There was never a shortage of kids on a summer day to start up a baseball game by day or kick the can when the evening hours grew dark.

Growing up in this veritable playground left lasting memories. The local farmer gladly provided a small parcel of farmland for the neighborhood kids to build their field of dreams. Lawn mowers were “borrowed” from unknowing fathers to cut down the high grass while backstops were constructed of abandoned storm fences and chicken wire. Not everyone appreciated the youthful enthusiasm of the summer baseball games however. Foul balls were frequent as the pitching wasn’t precise and the hitting was less so. When an errant ball rolled down along the first base side and into a neighbor’s yard, the father quickly confiscated it as if he thought his action would end the game and quite the din of kids at play. After losing several balls in this little drama the boys had had enough and the great baseball picket ensued. Signs were made and paraded for two days in front of the neighbor’s house in protest. (In those days the line of decency was fairly high, as the most controversial sign had nothing more than “ Fegley for Garbageman” scribbled on it.) Each side claimed victory of sorts as no previously confiscated balls were returned but from that point forward foul balls no longer vanished in the neighbor’s yard.

With so many kids in the neighborhood sports became the hub of neighborhood life. The Shaws, a gracious couple with several older children, put a basketball backstop and hoop on top of their garage. They would leave the garage door open so lights could be turned on when evening settled in and a game was still in progress. Their hill also doubled as the sledding path when enough snow fell. Better yet, the basketball court lights could be redirected to the hill for nighttime runs down the slope as well. The Mallards, a quarter mile up the road, had a nice soft and level backyard, which became the football stadium for neighborhood tackle football. Years before “FUMBLE” leaped from ESPN sports commentators’ mouth, it was the cry of one of our neighborhood games. This was a one against everyone else free for all where the ball carrier had to run through walls of would be tacklers waiting to bury the runner into the soft ground. Once you were part of the grass you had to fumble the football by throwing it aimlessly up into the air so that the next brave soul could pick it up and run like hell from eager pursuers.

Rob was typically in the younger half of any game’s participants. But that didn’t stop him from wanting to win. Either he got to that end legitimately or he bent the rules enough to considerably enhance his chances. If he missed a shot playing “HORSE” on the basketball court he didn’t hesitate to claim a distraction or fall back on some other ploy to get another shot.

More often than not, Rob really didn’t need to resort to such shenanigans, as he was a respectable athlete in his own right. He played regularly as a fifth grader on the elementary school basketball team when most of the other boys were sixth graders. He was an excellent fielder in baseball and had a knack for striking out even the older boys in the neighborhood baseball games. His baseball glove doubled as a goalie’s catcher when he took to the court to play street hockey as he often snagged what seemed to be sure goals with the flick of his glove hand.

His baseball talents emerged during his first season of little league baseball as he pitched and played 3rd base. Tom Seaver was emerging as a stand out pitcher for the lowly NY Mets and Rob quickly claimed Seaver’s number, 41, for himself. He took a Seaver baseball card and tucked it into the inside of his ball cap whenever it was his turn to pitch. Though Rob idolized Seaver, truth be told his pitching style more resembled the submariners of the late 60’s: Ted Abernathy or Phil Reagan. Regardless, Rob could bring the heat to the plate and his unorthodox motion made it all the more difficult to hit against him. He was the one pitcher no one liked to bat against and if he was on the hot corner you didn’t want to hit the ball his way either. Rob loved playing the game and would spend hours throwing balls through an old tire his stepfather Ray had set up in the back yard. When Ray’s daughter visited with her boyfriend Mel, Mel would often put on the catchers’ glove and taunt Rob to turn up the heat. Years later Mel confessed that his hands often ached from Rob’s fastball but he wasn’t about to let Rob gloat.

When he wasn’t practicing pitching he was bouncing tennis balls off of the basement wall to improve his fielding. Baseball was his passion and in the sweltering heat of July he would rather roast inside the house than ride his bike to the local pool with his brother for fear of tiring his pitching arm from swimming.

Though Rob enjoyed personal success, his baseball teams often did not have enough talent to win it all. Fortunately for him the league allowed its champion to take any player from another team’s roster for interleague playoffs. During the first of his two years in Junior American Legion baseball, Rob was taken by the “NY Yankees” of the league: the Pottstown Baby Steelers. The following year we was taken by the Douglassville team. Both years Rob stepped up his dominance as a pitcher and easily was the team ace on the mound. In both years, the teams went deep into the state playoffs but ultimately fell short. Whether it was Rob’s performance or his wide friendly grin and boyish enthusiasm, he was quickly assimilated into the inner circle of his new teammates as if he had been there for the entire summer. But his final year, he and his best friend Mark Rice were virtually unstoppable as a pitching tandem on the local team advancing all the way to the State Tournament.

American Legion Baseball has a cult like status in southeastern PA and Rob was thrilled to make the squad of local powerhouse Boyertown Bears during his first year of eligibility in 1975. But what Rob could once do by an over powering fastball at the Junior Legion level, now required the guile and deception of sliders, curves and his side arm pitching motion. The contrast of his style to the predominant overhead delivery mechanics of other pitchers made him the closer on the team. He excelled at it but really preferred a starters role. That placed him at odds with the coach who tolerated the disagreement so long as the outcome was team victories. In the latter stages of the 1976 season Rob’s arm tired from the combination of overuse and throwing too many breaking pitches. He needed the rest but in the midst of another run at a state title, the coach cared little about recharging worn out players. He wanted the title plain and simple. While the team made it to the top of the mountain and claimed the state title and advanced far into the regional playoffs, Rob had tired of his coaches’ on the field antics and off field indiscretions with some of the teen aged girls that followed the team. When it came time for his final year of eligibility Rob opted not to return. Nor did he wish to pursue baseball at the collegiate level.


To some it may seem that after having realized a dream, Rob simply didn’t want to keep working at it to stay on top. Nothing could be further from the truth. Rob had become a very good student and saw college on the horizon. He relished challenges and proving he was the best. As a fifth grader he eagerly learned Chess from his teacher. Beating the other kids in his class was nothing special so he took aim at the teacher. Once he bested his mentor it was a victory Rob would never let his teacher forget, as he was the only student to defeat the master.

Though Rob was driven to succeed not all his endeavors resulted in accolades. He played sophomore football as a cornerback but it was a one-year effort as the mud and cold of November practices proved unpalatable. There was a natural sibling rivalry that Rob did his best to stay on the plus side of. Older brother Ken enjoyed moderate success as a wrestler and Rob decided to follow suit. Then came the big exhibition match of brother against brother. Rob’s inexperience resulted in a predictable one-sided loss, which did not sit well with him. He finished the season but never again challenged his brother on that front, knowing the advantage would never be his.

Summer and part time jobs were a fact of life for the brothers. Both had college aspirations, which meant earning extra money where ever possible. Their work experiences kept them humble and in touch with everyday people. As teens they worked on a nearby farm bailing hay in the summer heat and shoveling manure from overflowing stalls on the days that the rain kept the fields wet. They tended to a peach orchard and painted barns. They cleaned a doctor’s office and home, usually taking along the most recent Areosmith tape to plug into the sound system making the doctor cringe if he returned a bit too early. After turning 18, Rob joined Ken in a textile factory summer job doing 3 day 12 hour shifts for the week. That gave them time for another part time job or if they needed the escape a 2-day camp out trip to the Jersey shore. Since Ken had a drivers license, he and Rob became part of the “kiddie corp” of inventory clerks that traveled through out eastern PA and New Jersey to count and value stock. To be sure, they had a pretty diverse work experience growing up. While Rob liked the money, the work made him realize what he didn’t want to be once he got on with his life’s work. Rob was determined to be the thinker and not the laborer.

As Rob’s high school years grew to a close, college was a certainty but money to fund it wasn’t. Brother Ken was already at Miami University (begrudgingly, Rob couldn’t claim to be the first in the family to attend college) making the economics tight. Fortunately Rob’s stellar academics were rewarded with a scholarship from Neapco, stepfather Ray’s employer. With funding at hand, Rob was off to the University of Maryland (UM) as journalism major.

His competitive nature was evident not only on the playing field but also in the classroom. Success meant nothing but A’s on his report card, which he often managed to achieve. In high school he was invited to join the National Honor Society and graduated with high honors. It was an eclectic mix of students that sparked rivalries on all fronts. Being second wasn’t in Rob’s vocabulary but this group was formidable. He missed being valedictorian thanks to what he thought was an undeserved B from his Legion baseball coach. When most college freshmen struggled with adjusting to campus life, Rob worked diligently at keeping his academic performance spotless. His first two semesters at UM were exceptional. Then came a bout with mono and though he pushed himself to maintain his 4.0 average, the need for rest finally prevailed and a B in a class followed. In hindsight it was a blessing in disguise as Rob began to think beyond the immediacy of earning a grade. His vision changed to acquiring the pedigree necessary to entering a top-flight law school and then a successful career.

Like most freshmen, the first year of university life taught Rob lessons beyond academics. The campus dormitory housing at Hereford Hall made every fiction of “Animal House” a reality. Coping with all of the potential vices is analogous to walking a tight rope; even the best have to pause to regain their sense of balance. Rob’s walk was no less perilous than any other incoming frosh. What separated him from those that fell from the rope was his level headed approach to all that was going on around him. Excess wasn’t Rob’s modus operandi. (Unless a care package stuffed with marshmallow pies and gummi bears arrived from his mother.) Instead, he practiced moderation when we he indulged at all. It just wasn’t him to seek an escape.

While academically intense, Rob was easy going to those he counted as his friends. His sensibility served him well as he earned a resident assistant position in one of Maryland’s dormitories as a sophomore. His personal growth went well beyond shepherding the next class of freshmen. His world broadened considerably as he took a role in student government, wrote for a student paper, undertook an international studies cirriculum and cultivated a long lasting friendship with an academic mentor whose wisdom and guidance went well beyond laying the groundwork for entering a law school.

That’s not to say it was all work at Maryland. Despite his good nature and handsome appearance Rob didn’t possess the self confidence one might associate with a person of his qualities. When he first came to College Park, romantic relationships were foreign to him but it was that innocence that seemed to endear him to those women that he was attracted to as well. His shyness faded over his first year at UM but his innocence remained. His personal evolution was no more evident than his role in “Pillow Talk”.
To raise money for residence hall activities, student government created “Pillow Talk” which provided a bedtime story and tuck in service to campus coeds for a small fee. Rob took great pride in playing the role of a reader equipped with a terricloth bathrobe and teddi bear. It was that ingredient of innocent fun that made him one of the more popular readers as he played the game without crossing the line.

Rob graduated as a member of the Phi Beta Kappa honor society from the University of Maryland in 1980. After a year of working to raise money, he entered the George Washington Law School in the fall of 1981. He wasted no time in propelling himself to the top of his class. The crown of his first year was earning the right to participate in the final round of the first year Moot Court Competition. Arguing in front of federal judges gave Rob the thirst to clerk for a Federal Court and after graduating from Law School in 1984, Rob spent a year clerking for the Federal Bench in San Diego. The experience made him quip it was his intent to argue before every Federal Court district in the country, much as some people have the ambition to see a baseball game in every major league stadium.

Rob had always taken care of himself through his college and law school days and beyond as well. He ran 20 miles a week, lifted weights, played basketball & tennis among other physical activities. His brother wasn’t much different and when Ken moved to the DC area after finishing grad school at Carnegie-Mellon’s School of Urban & Public Affairs in August 1983, the two became running buddies. If there was a local 10k race, the brothers would sign up and go for a run. But as was Rob’s competitive nature, he wasn’t about to finish second to Ken. Most often he would finish a minute or so before his brother crossed the finish line. On the odd occasion he finished after his brother Rob wouldn’t hesitate to claim some illness as the cause just as he did when they were kids. But sometimes they managed to work together too. Footlocker sponsored a 12k race along the monument side of the Potomac River for which runners could partner up for best aggregate times and prize awards. Neither had run a 12k race before so the last 2k proved to be challenge as they were use to emptying the tanks to the finish at around the 9k marker. Rob faltered a bit near 10k with a huff and a puff then miraculously found his stride to blow past his brother within seconds. They finished 2nd in their age group to claim $50 gift certificates and a medal which Ken still has today.

While brothers born 11 months apart often share many physical attributes and abilities, there are times what is strong in one is totally absent in the other. Such was the case for Rob and mechanical aptitude. If it required a screwdriver or wrench then Rob was out of his element big time. Whatever possessed Rob to change a faucet in his DC condo was never clear. What was clear, however was his angst and frustration when he realized he was in over his head. It was probably the last phone call that he wanted to make but he knew his older brother had the tools and savvy to bail him out. Within an hour Ken arrived with toolbox in hand. Rob led the way to the problem faucet. Ken studied it for a few minutes, tried loosening a couple of connections, stopped, looked up at Rob and said, “Brother, I don’t know what you did to get this far but I can’t undo the mess you’ve made so better call a plumber!”.

As kids, Rob and Ken were passionate Philadelphia Eagles football fans. Sundays meant afternoon dinners in the living room, watching the game with stepfather Ray. The house was always full of cheers and moans as the TV projected the good fortunes or blunderous mistakes of their football team. It was a shared passion that bound the brothers together all of their adult lives. Rob bought season tickets in the late 80’s as a birthday gift for Ray. But Ray’s knees were troublesome so the brothers soon became partners on the seats. They sat in section 232 row 21 seats 14 & 15 from the rebirth of the Eagles under Buddy Ryan, the mediocrity of Rich Kotite, and the promise but ultimate demise under Ray Rhodes. Rob would take the train from NYC while Ken drove 5 hours from Pittsburgh. One brought the hoagies; the other bought the beer or hot chocolate when it turned cold in Veterans Stadium. Not much could stand in the way of a game. As the temperatures fell into the teens, they donned ski pants and as many layers practical to keep warm but still be able to move reasonably quickly through the subway train to the stadium. No game was complete without lots of loud cries at the on-field action. By games end talking was all but impossible thanks to overworked and strained vocal cords.

They shared their passion with their friends as well. Each took a couple of games that they would take a friend instead of meeting each other. When Rob didn’t make a game, he frequented an Irish pub near his apartment in Upper East Side Manhattan. He had a game plan too, in making certain he got great seats from which to watch the game. The pub opened early on Sundays to televise soccer matches from overseas. Typically there was a brief lull between the end of the soccer matches and the start of the one o’clock NFL games. Rob timed his arrival at the pub just as the soccer matches were in their waning moments and the fans filing out, Rob would occupy prime seats in front the TV scheduled to show the Eagles game.

Being an Eagles fan requires a mix of unending sarcasm, undying loyalty and unguarded optimism. You prayed for the team to do well, ridiculed their follies with glee all the while believing they were about to turn the corner to respectability. With the hiring of Andy Reid as the new head coach there was reason to feel good about being an “Iggles” fan again. When Rob and Ken talked their team was often one of the subjects of conversation. After 2 years of rebuilding under Reid, 2001 looked as if the Eagles were headed to the top. And so it was with great enthusiasm that Rob called Ken on September 9th. The Eagles were opening the season against the defending Super Bowl Champion St Louis Rams. It was also Ken’s birthday so the call had more than its usual musings about life, sports and handling mom.

After looking lethargic in the first half, Rob called Ken to vent and express his birthday greetings. As they usually did, the brothers went back and forth in dissecting the Eagles first half ills and how to right the ship. It wasn’t as if they thought Andy Reid would ever listen, rather they just relished the role of armchair quarterback whether from the seats of Veterans Stadium or their favorite spot at home. The last picture ever taken of Rob is a classic from that day as he’s resting in his chair surrounded by Eagles gear and waiting for the game to begin. It was also the last chat the two would share. What made that final conversation even more difficult was their agreement to meet at their mother’s house the following weekend. Having lost Ray to a heart attack in May, Wilma was struggling to manage all of the new responsibilities once handled by her husband. This was to be the weekend Wilma would have her “boys” all to herself. Her enthusiasm was overflowing when each called her later that Sunday to tell her of their agreement.

Little did anyone envision that the joyous expectation would collapse into shards of twisted steel and concrete rubble two days later. Or that the usual pre meeting phone call of “Mom, I’m on my way” would crumble away into a bewildered and exhausted “Mom, Rob is never coming home again”.

As siblings our lives intertwined throughout the years Rob was alive. As I write, I recall so many events that were once lost in my mind. Some incidents come rushing back as I raise my son Brett and daughter Kaleigh. Just this past fall Brett and I walked through a small cave at a Cub Scout camp and in a moment of faded memory I realized that Rob and I had gone caving several times as kids with the Shaws. I wanted to call him and ask if he remembered but that touchstone to the past is forever gone.

Just this past spring our aunt died of a sudden stroke. The aunt had two adopted daughters that were the same age as Rob and I, and went to the same high school as well. We grew up as cousins often spending holidays and summers together. There were family card games, swimming lessons, our aunt melting at the sight of Tom Jones singing on TV; all memories to be shared with our families and each other at future family gatherings. But now one important link to the past has been taken away.

Rob never married nor had kids, but he was a family guy nonetheless. He was my best man; the uncle and godfather to Brett who carries Rob’s middle name of Francis in his honor; the loving uncle to Kaleigh who he held after her christening as if she were his own daughter. In time I have no doubt Rob too would have married and been a loving father. While he loved his profession he had already begun to plan for the future. He had just completed the draft of a legal thriller novel and had begun his efforts to market the book to publishers. He had developed a strong romantic tie with a woman who had once been his paralegal and was ready to bring her home to a mother’s overseeing eye. But the heinous acts of 9-11 served to strip the future of blossoms waiting to unfold before the warm sun.

The beauty of that early Indian summer morning was soon to be shattered by two streaking fuel ladened jets aimed at taking away some of the best and brightest. I trembled and wept as I walked the streets of New York like many others looking for their loved ones in the days immediately after 9-11. But by Friday it became very apparent that Rob and thousands of others had slipped away from us well before we understood what had happened. Too few goodbyes ever found their way to those they were intended for.

There’s no preparation nor counseling that can ease the distress of 9-11. It is a day far larger than a day of loss for the families that unwillingly surrendered their loved one to the hate of terrorists. It is a national symbol of recommitment to the values of our nation against those that would take them from us by any means. Consequently no day goes by without the emptiness of loss making it presence felt. But life goes on and we all must find our own compass to set us right again. When I feel my direction start to go off track I take a moment to ask myself, if Rob were here today what would he tell me. He has always given me an answer.

Ken Mace,  April 2004