By Tim Tibbitts '80

There are so many memories of Bob, it is hard to pick just a few. The breadth of his knowledge and skills as a biologist and teacher are legendary, and perhaps others have better stories than me. A different aspect on him occurred to me. You and another person or two made comments about Bob’s occasional somewhat antisocial moods. He even admitted as much, in some of his later visits and correspondence with me. But we all change with age, including characteristics like that. My memories of Bob from my time as a student, and for many years later, are that he was a uniquely social animal. He was very comfortable, very adept with making new acquaintances, and putting people at ease. I saw this in both his professional work and his social interactions. Examples:

His classroom technique was typically playful, mischievous and engaging. But absolutely thorough. He made learning an intellectual game. He effectively seduced people into learning and into gaining his passion for biology. When he made demands on students, it was not intimidating, it was encouraging. He could put you at ease at the same time he put you on the spot. 

His persona out in the larger world was instructive and set an example for others. I remember visiting a small limestone cavern on private property in Texas (?) on a desert biology field trip. Our “guide” was a youngish woman who clearly was not much educated, nor very sophisticated. It was clear Bob knew a lot more about the geology, hydrology, and biology of limestone caverns in Texas than she did. But he was the epitome of grace and tact in talking with her as he taught us. He put her at ease, complimented her sincerely, and had yet another fan by the time we departed.

There was our stay at the university field station on South Water Caye off the coast of Belize in January 1980. The “university” was a large wood frame field house on an otherwise uninhabited spit of sand and coral rock. Two wonderful matronly Caribbean ladies cooked our meals and maintained the house. I remember lying in my sleeping bag on the wooden deck, trying to get to sleep, and hearing Bob and those ladies laughing it up down in the kitchen for what seemed like hours. Almost every night. They had very little in common with Bob, but there he was, gregarious and socializing and making new friends for himself and us.

In later years, I sometimes joined (or was joined by) Bob and John Hayes as they led subsequent desert biology field trips. I was impressed at how they continually improved their teaching. A lot of that was technical, but a lot was also the evolution and maturing of personalities. With time, Bob seemed even more relaxed and personable with his students and with the people they encountered on such trips. I remember them joining me and some coworkers on projects, and Bob was instantly familiar and casual with my peers. Even more, he drew them into discussions for the group, making them feel like they contributed to the teaching value of the outing. He didn’t have to do that, and he didn’t do it to be politic. He did it because that was his nature.

On one of his last visits with me in AZ, Bob did come alone, completely non-social, just him on his rented motorcycle. I was amused, as he fussed and tinkered with the bike in my carport. I marveled at how the Bob I first knew 30 years earlier (!) had morphed into a motorcycle enthusiast wearing what he called his full-body “moon suit.” He told me about how, several days earlier, he had gone into a small restaurant in rural eastern AZ wearing that moon suit. That is a geographic area I knew to be very suspicious of strangers, and people who “look different.” The story he told was hilarious, self-deprecating, wise and gracious. That was probably the last time I saw him. As always, he still gave off a glow.