In Memoriam: Rob Maisch
Yesterday we got a call to say that our friend Rob Maisch, author of Confessions of a Cereal Eater! and librarian at the Akron Summit County Public Library, had died.
Last weekend, my friend Ruth turned 30. Ruth and I have been friends since age 12, despite the fact that during the early years of our friendship she once actually bit me and later ran me over with her bike (then blamed it on me).
So for her birthday I indulged her by whiling away an hour on the balcony of the West Side Market reminiscing about all the terrible things I'd done to her, like chicken out on our 11th grade trip to France.
I realized then that if I had gone to France, the entire trajectory of my life would have changed. No kidding. It was a very sobering moment that depressed me all week.
But now I am enormously glad I didn't go to France because meeting Rob was one of those things I would've missed out on.
I met Rob in 2001 when we both started library school at Kent State. My first impression of a grizzled unsmiling codger with a chip on his shoulder the size of Massachusetts soon gave way to a grizzled unsmiling codger with a chip on his shoulder the size of Massachusetts and a heart of gold. And a head full of fascinating stories. I practically sat at his feet with my jaw hanging open.
We all did.
There are three main things I learned from Rob:
1. Don't take life too seriously.
2. Getting older doesn't make you insufferably dull.
3. Look for the storyteller in the crowd. Because he has amazing things to teach you.
Late last night I was rooting around in a box of old photos for a good one of Rob, something that I could post here, but I was stymied in my attempt to find one that didn't contain a rude hand gesture. There was even a couple of priceless, un-PC shots taken in front of the short bus.
(As I'm writing this, I'm recalling that it was Rob who spotted the short bus parked in front of Luigi's, scampering over to it in the way that paunchy middle-aged men usually don't, gleefully shouting, "All right! It's the short bus! Who's got the camera?")
Rob looked at my life through the long lens of experience and without knowing much about me at all, could tell me exactly what (and who) I did and didn't need in my life.
Rob always wanted to hang out with us twentysomethings, the so-called Two-Fisted Librarians Gang who drank cheap beer in the Rathskeller while kvetching about MARC records.
Maybe we kept him young. Maybe he made us wise.
When Lyra Belacqua puts an end to Death in The Amber Spyglass, she makes a deal with the Harpies who have tortured the souls of the dead for untold ages. In order to go on to the next world, the recently-departed will have to tell stories to the Harpies. True stories, from their real lives. In other words, they've got to live, and not waste their time on Earth.
Rob had an amazing gift for those type of stories. I can only hope to be half the storyteller he ever was.
Last weekend, my friend Ruth turned 30. Ruth and I have been friends since age 12, despite the fact that during the early years of our friendship she once actually bit me and later ran me over with her bike (then blamed it on me).
So for her birthday I indulged her by whiling away an hour on the balcony of the West Side Market reminiscing about all the terrible things I'd done to her, like chicken out on our 11th grade trip to France.
I realized then that if I had gone to France, the entire trajectory of my life would have changed. No kidding. It was a very sobering moment that depressed me all week.
But now I am enormously glad I didn't go to France because meeting Rob was one of those things I would've missed out on.
I met Rob in 2001 when we both started library school at Kent State. My first impression of a grizzled unsmiling codger with a chip on his shoulder the size of Massachusetts soon gave way to a grizzled unsmiling codger with a chip on his shoulder the size of Massachusetts and a heart of gold. And a head full of fascinating stories. I practically sat at his feet with my jaw hanging open.
We all did.
There are three main things I learned from Rob:
1. Don't take life too seriously.
2. Getting older doesn't make you insufferably dull.
3. Look for the storyteller in the crowd. Because he has amazing things to teach you.
Late last night I was rooting around in a box of old photos for a good one of Rob, something that I could post here, but I was stymied in my attempt to find one that didn't contain a rude hand gesture. There was even a couple of priceless, un-PC shots taken in front of the short bus.
(As I'm writing this, I'm recalling that it was Rob who spotted the short bus parked in front of Luigi's, scampering over to it in the way that paunchy middle-aged men usually don't, gleefully shouting, "All right! It's the short bus! Who's got the camera?")
Rob looked at my life through the long lens of experience and without knowing much about me at all, could tell me exactly what (and who) I did and didn't need in my life.
Rob always wanted to hang out with us twentysomethings, the so-called Two-Fisted Librarians Gang who drank cheap beer in the Rathskeller while kvetching about MARC records.
Maybe we kept him young. Maybe he made us wise.
When Lyra Belacqua puts an end to Death in The Amber Spyglass, she makes a deal with the Harpies who have tortured the souls of the dead for untold ages. In order to go on to the next world, the recently-departed will have to tell stories to the Harpies. True stories, from their real lives. In other words, they've got to live, and not waste their time on Earth.
Rob had an amazing gift for those type of stories. I can only hope to be half the storyteller he ever was.
posted by Christine at 1:38 PM
6 Comments:
Oh, man...a few months ago, I just randonly happened upon Confessions of a Cereal Eater down here in Columbus at the local library. Really enjoyed it - sad to hear of his passing!
my condolences...
Thank you Christine for your kind words in memory of Rob. It reminded me how Rob was throughout his life.
I knew Rob from high school. I guess that makes me a codger too. Eventhough I only saw Rob only a few times after high school and college, I remember him as you have described. He was a story teller of the top degree.
That was one of the many things that made me envious of Rob. He could talk to anyone about anything and ALWAYS seemed to take center stage. He had a way of holding your attention and the ability to take any story, no matter how mundane, sound like you wish you were there to witness it.
I know life didn't unfold easily for Rob and he had some tough breaks. But I'm glad he was able to find love in his life and I know he was proud of getting his master's degree. In speaking with Rob about a year ago, I also know he loved his job at the library.
With your kind words and fond memory of Rob, I can see why.
Rob will be also be missed in and around Midland, Michigan, were he grew up.
Thank you for your comments. Rob was indeed someone who made a huge impact on my life, even if I only knew him for a few years.
Christine,
Thank you for the kind words about Rob, he was my father. It is nice to know and hear that he had a positive impact on other people's lives as he did on both Scott and I. We miss him very much, and its stories like these (like the ones he used to tell) that keep his memory alive.
Thanks,
Dave Maisch
Hi Dave,
Thanks so much for stopping by. Even though I didn't know him very long, your dad was a huge influence on my life. He encouraged me to first date, then marry, my husband Jim (he repeatedly used to needle Jim about making me "an honest woman once and for all.")
Jim and I would love to meet you and your brother, so if you see this, please email me at christine AT christineborne DOT net.
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