A Story of a Young and Old Entomologist
Dec 2, 2014 22:09:02 GMT -8
ckswank, vabrou, and 2 more like this
Post by exoticimports on Dec 2, 2014 22:09:02 GMT -8
I first met Bob when I was perhaps eleven years old.
My parents took me to a science expo, and Bob was the bug guy. What an heap of stuff Bob had! Piles and piles of papered bugs, mostly butterflies, from all over the world! I left that day probably the happiest kid in the world, with my bag of butterflies.
They took me back the following two years. Always, there was Bob. Enthusiastic, more energy than a kid with ADD, and those brilliant grey eyes that seemed so deep and burned with intelligence and energy. And those bad European teeth...like mine. Bob. He was out of this world to a young kid who loved bugs. We'd talk about bugs, we had a passion for bugs. He told me about the first T. brookiana he bought for $25. Bob belonged to the Lep Soc too! He was out of this world.
But sadly the expo didn't do a fourth year, or any after. When I was about 20 I attended some lame insect discussion at the local arboretum and ran into Bob. Hello, how are you, that's about it. I was more focused on the young lady that was with me.
Through college, then early employment, and great parties I remembered Bob. Every two years I'd receive the Lep Soc member's directory and look up Bob. Yep, still there. But I didn't contact him- I didn't have time.
Through a marriage, then incredible international travel and collecting bugs in fabulous jungles and frozen tundra, I'd check every two years, and yup, Bob was still listed. I was in Samoa and Fiji, weeks in Ecuador, months in Solomon Islands...bugs, bugs BUGS! I was a bug fanatic, living in jungles searching for new bugs, new records...and always thinking about Bob, who was such an influence. Of course, I didn't contact him, I was too busy. But he was, as always, in the Lep Soc membership directory. And I thought about contacting him, but again, I was too busy.
Some thirty (!!) years after I met Bob, Bob who was always on my mind but whom I didn't contact, I sent him a letter. I told him what a profound impact he'd had on my entomological studies, and, in fact, my entire life.
Bob wrote back right away. He was amazed! He said he remembered me, though that may have been more polite than memory. In any event, we met soon after at his workplace. We met in the parking lot and there was no mistaking him- his eyes burned the fire of a man possessed and with limitless energy. Same guy for sure, same bad teeth, same ripping smile, same hair- albeit a bit white. And he took me around to show me what was effectively his legacy. "BOB"! there was nobody like him. Bob was loved by all, annoyed by most, that perfectionist and energetic super man.
We caught up the 30 missing years. He'd attended Lep Soc meetings (which I don't) and all of his family vacations centered around what neat butterflies might be available. He'd gone "micro crazy" (which would make Charlie Covell happy) and had perfected collecting Catocala. Bob looked forward to next year's "family" (kids were now 30+ years old and gone) collecting trip and the next Lep Soc meeting.
But two years after we re-united things went to ###. Bob suffered a perhaps temporary medical condition that knocked the peanuts out of him. I visited him in the hospital, and he couldn't wait to get out, get better, go travelling, and go to the Lep Soc meeting.
Bob didn't get much better. He was borderline infuriated that his body was doing this to him. And that his mind wasn't the same. The drive was there, but not the guy I knew. He fought hard against that enemy, that conqueror, age. He didn't want it to get the best of him. He WAS going to bounce back!
I brought Bob boxes and boxes of specimens from Ecuador, USA, and Solomon Islands. Take what you want, I said. And he did, a bit. He set some, put some in his private collection, some in his displays for educational presentations.
Bob hated his condition. He didn't get "all better". He despised what had happened, and questioned if he'd travel again. I drove us four hours to a unique collecting/ study spot, and we spent a total of an hour outside of the vehicle. I ran around and grabbed specimens, Bob complained he couldn't even negotiate the trails. He just didn't have it in him anymore.
Last year I visited Bob, and he was tired. Still the same energy in his voice, but not in the body. Bob said it was time to donate his fabulous collection (fabulous scientifically, not commercially) so I put him in touch with Smithsonian, which was enthusiastic to assume his collection. I told Bob that I needed return of some beetles which were of interest to European collectors (and $1000 according to them) but he couldn't find that box.
Last week I called Bob. Hey, I have a day free finally! Bob said come on over, and I found that bag of beetles and have your books. So I drove out to see Bob, after some 16 months.
A stooped old man met me at the door. It was Bob, but not "my" Bob. He moved very slowly and said that after side-swiping several cars he was self-revoking his auto driving. His email and computer was a mess because he'd inadvertently clicked on ads that loaded his computer with viruses. I fixed that.
We went down to his bug room, despite his wife's complaints that he's not to do stairs. It was a sad mess. There were leps on the boards that he said had been there "a few day" but clearly they'd been there for months and the mice ate them. His softening container was pure mold, and the specimens within were unidentifiable. I went through his 100 drawer collection and doused PDB into the drawers that were being destroyed by dermestids.
Bob said he didn't want to donate his collection to AMNH, he wanted it local, so intended to donate it to the local college, his alma mata. I know they have little interest and no ability to maintain it, but that's now what he wants. He hasn't arranged such a disposition, so he's hoping they take it "some time."
The rare beetles the Italians wanted were, again, no where to be found.
I departed, Bob was exhausted and confused, yet I have a profound love for him that he will never recognize.
I don't know if I will see Bob again.
My parents took me to a science expo, and Bob was the bug guy. What an heap of stuff Bob had! Piles and piles of papered bugs, mostly butterflies, from all over the world! I left that day probably the happiest kid in the world, with my bag of butterflies.
They took me back the following two years. Always, there was Bob. Enthusiastic, more energy than a kid with ADD, and those brilliant grey eyes that seemed so deep and burned with intelligence and energy. And those bad European teeth...like mine. Bob. He was out of this world to a young kid who loved bugs. We'd talk about bugs, we had a passion for bugs. He told me about the first T. brookiana he bought for $25. Bob belonged to the Lep Soc too! He was out of this world.
But sadly the expo didn't do a fourth year, or any after. When I was about 20 I attended some lame insect discussion at the local arboretum and ran into Bob. Hello, how are you, that's about it. I was more focused on the young lady that was with me.
Through college, then early employment, and great parties I remembered Bob. Every two years I'd receive the Lep Soc member's directory and look up Bob. Yep, still there. But I didn't contact him- I didn't have time.
Through a marriage, then incredible international travel and collecting bugs in fabulous jungles and frozen tundra, I'd check every two years, and yup, Bob was still listed. I was in Samoa and Fiji, weeks in Ecuador, months in Solomon Islands...bugs, bugs BUGS! I was a bug fanatic, living in jungles searching for new bugs, new records...and always thinking about Bob, who was such an influence. Of course, I didn't contact him, I was too busy. But he was, as always, in the Lep Soc membership directory. And I thought about contacting him, but again, I was too busy.
Some thirty (!!) years after I met Bob, Bob who was always on my mind but whom I didn't contact, I sent him a letter. I told him what a profound impact he'd had on my entomological studies, and, in fact, my entire life.
Bob wrote back right away. He was amazed! He said he remembered me, though that may have been more polite than memory. In any event, we met soon after at his workplace. We met in the parking lot and there was no mistaking him- his eyes burned the fire of a man possessed and with limitless energy. Same guy for sure, same bad teeth, same ripping smile, same hair- albeit a bit white. And he took me around to show me what was effectively his legacy. "BOB"! there was nobody like him. Bob was loved by all, annoyed by most, that perfectionist and energetic super man.
We caught up the 30 missing years. He'd attended Lep Soc meetings (which I don't) and all of his family vacations centered around what neat butterflies might be available. He'd gone "micro crazy" (which would make Charlie Covell happy) and had perfected collecting Catocala. Bob looked forward to next year's "family" (kids were now 30+ years old and gone) collecting trip and the next Lep Soc meeting.
But two years after we re-united things went to ###. Bob suffered a perhaps temporary medical condition that knocked the peanuts out of him. I visited him in the hospital, and he couldn't wait to get out, get better, go travelling, and go to the Lep Soc meeting.
Bob didn't get much better. He was borderline infuriated that his body was doing this to him. And that his mind wasn't the same. The drive was there, but not the guy I knew. He fought hard against that enemy, that conqueror, age. He didn't want it to get the best of him. He WAS going to bounce back!
I brought Bob boxes and boxes of specimens from Ecuador, USA, and Solomon Islands. Take what you want, I said. And he did, a bit. He set some, put some in his private collection, some in his displays for educational presentations.
Bob hated his condition. He didn't get "all better". He despised what had happened, and questioned if he'd travel again. I drove us four hours to a unique collecting/ study spot, and we spent a total of an hour outside of the vehicle. I ran around and grabbed specimens, Bob complained he couldn't even negotiate the trails. He just didn't have it in him anymore.
Last year I visited Bob, and he was tired. Still the same energy in his voice, but not in the body. Bob said it was time to donate his fabulous collection (fabulous scientifically, not commercially) so I put him in touch with Smithsonian, which was enthusiastic to assume his collection. I told Bob that I needed return of some beetles which were of interest to European collectors (and $1000 according to them) but he couldn't find that box.
Last week I called Bob. Hey, I have a day free finally! Bob said come on over, and I found that bag of beetles and have your books. So I drove out to see Bob, after some 16 months.
A stooped old man met me at the door. It was Bob, but not "my" Bob. He moved very slowly and said that after side-swiping several cars he was self-revoking his auto driving. His email and computer was a mess because he'd inadvertently clicked on ads that loaded his computer with viruses. I fixed that.
We went down to his bug room, despite his wife's complaints that he's not to do stairs. It was a sad mess. There were leps on the boards that he said had been there "a few day" but clearly they'd been there for months and the mice ate them. His softening container was pure mold, and the specimens within were unidentifiable. I went through his 100 drawer collection and doused PDB into the drawers that were being destroyed by dermestids.
Bob said he didn't want to donate his collection to AMNH, he wanted it local, so intended to donate it to the local college, his alma mata. I know they have little interest and no ability to maintain it, but that's now what he wants. He hasn't arranged such a disposition, so he's hoping they take it "some time."
The rare beetles the Italians wanted were, again, no where to be found.
I departed, Bob was exhausted and confused, yet I have a profound love for him that he will never recognize.
I don't know if I will see Bob again.
