Thursday, January 18, 2007 - Doctor Robert

When I first came to the US in 1987 like most other people I found myself an apartment to live in and a job, the job wasn't a very good one and I had to work Sundays.  I didn't have any freinds and knew no-one. Early one Sunday morning I was stopped by a guy that lived in my apartment building who asked me for a ride, I obliged and noticed he was somewhat drunk but didn't think much of it as I like a tipple myself.

A couple of days later the neighbor I had given the ride to thanked me, introduced himself and gave me what he claimed to be an original Kennedy Presidential candidate bumper sticker as a thank-you. I had the bumper sticker framed only to be asked for it back by the neighbor who was now sober, as he really wanted to keep it for a gift for his son.

That was the start of my friendship with what would turn out to be my first American friend since arriving in the country.

 Robert was a Vietnam veteran who had one time worked for Merrill Lynch and had been married with a small son, for one reason or another, mostly his drinking I suspected, he was estranged from his wife and son and worked sporadically at best over the 20 years I knew him.

Personal issues and a 17 year age difference aside Robert was a perfect friend for someone who had just arrived in Los Angeles, having grown up in the 60’s surfing scene he knew Santa Monica well, my days off were on a Tuesday & Wednesday which Robert and I would spend at the beach.

On these days off, everything was still new and fresh to me; the sun and sand were a novelty to a kid from Birmingham. Robert would usually wander off and come back with a girl or two to introduce to his ‘English buddy’, so he would do all the hard work while I usually sat drinking beer in the sun hoping to get laid by the girls Robert would present to me, being a lot more shy in those days the arrangement worked perfectly and we had a lot of fun.

Robert was a big fan of the Beatles and especially John Lennon, one of the Beatles songs is entitled ‘Doctor Robert’, one of the lines exclaims that “no-one can succeed like Doctor Robert”. Given Robert’s love of The Beatles, his dire financial circumstances and love of booze, not to mention my sarcastic British humor I nicknamed him Doctor Robert as 'no one could succeed like' him, and the name stuck over the years. I would address him as Doctor Robert or when he would call on the telephone Elina would announce, it’s Doctor Robert. Doctor Robert would proudly use the moniker himself when I spoke with him, as if he were almost convinced he actually was a doctor.

 Robert and I had some hilarious escapades, usually fuelled by booze and sunny days on the beach, like the time he offered to ‘race me home’ after one of our beach days. Neither of us were fit to drive, I drove home very carefully aware that I would be at fault for any accident. Doctor Robert showed up a couple of hours later after crashing his car, he asked me to return him to his car, which I did. He then approached a police officer slurring that he had an accident, the cop dismissed him as an idiot and I had to literally drag him away before the cop found out it was actually true.

 The time I flicked the bottle cap of a beer and knocked his new tooth veneer off, leaving him with half a tooth after he only got the veneer to repair his tooth, less than a week before.

Happy Hour at the Sheraton Hotel, we had just walked in after one of our beach days, in the 5 minutes I had left him alone in the bar while I went to the gents, I came back to find him being literally carried out by 3 security guards, one had his feet, one had him around the chest and one was carrying his boom box which he had been playing The Beatles on at maximum volume much to the annoyance of hotel staff and patrons alike.

 Robert moved to Henderson, a small suburb just outside Las Vegas a few years ago, to be close to his sister. Still not working, living in section 8 housing, attending AA meetings and longing to see his only son from his estranged wife. Robert had shown me photographs of their wedding years earlier a few blocks away in Saint Monica’s church, where I live now, a younger Robert in happier days. Robert longed to return to Santa Monica for a visit where he had spent long, summer days at the beach in his teenage surfing years, during his marriage and of course showing a new English immigrant around in the late 1980’s. I had offered to fly him out here for a visit having not seen him for 4 years and so that he could have a look around his beloved Santa Monica, not to mention a few drinks. He could never find the time to take me up on my offer due to his 'busy schedule'.

Today I received a call from Las Vegas coroners office, at 58 years old Robert had had a heart attack in the early hours of the morning and had passed away. One of the items in Robert’s wallet was a piece of paper with my telephone number on it…………………………………..