We first met in high school in Pennsylvania, back in the 60s. We sat close together because my last name was Black and his was Bridges. We both loved reading and especially science fiction, but no one devoured books like Bob did. Once in first period he borrowed a book I was reading but forgot to return it. When I saw him in last period, he said, “It’s pretty good, you’ll love the ending.”
Sadly, we weren’t in-person friends for long. Our family moved to New Jersey the next year – a state I never grew to love – and the Bridges family moved to North Carolina, sometime later. But we shared addresses, started corresponding and kept doing that for, what, 57 years now, at first by mail and later by this new thing called the Internet.
Early on, Bob had this great idea: He’d write the first chapter of a story, I could write Chapter Two, he’d write Chapter Three, and so on. I wrote back – I remember this – and declined, saying I didn’t know how to write a story, I didn’t think I could do it justice. He wrote back and said I should at least give it a try. So I did, and took to it instantly, so enraptured with the creative process that I thought I should pursue this, try to write stories and publish them and maybe make some money doing that. Eventually I succeeded, selling books and stories and screenplays, but it was Bob who set it in motion, back in the 60s, changing my life in the process.
Of course, I had other pen pals back then, but somehow none persisted as long as Bob. And the reason isn’t hard to figure out: It’s because we disagreed on so many things! Mostly politics but especially religion, because Bob was Christian and I’m agnostic and we spent hours trying to convince each other of our respective views. You can probably guess how that turned out – you think I’m stubborn, try arguing with Bob – but the arguments were surprisingly self-revelatory, probing the unknowable (to me, at least) with great metaphysical detail.
I don’t know how (or if) Bob’s position was modified by our debates, but I know mine was. I’ve come to see Bob’s views as a window on human ideals, the finest to which people can aspire, regardless of your faith or lack of it. It was probably Bob’s influence that led me back to church-going, though I’ve become Unitarian because they allow a broader spectrum of belief, more accommodating to those of who still aren’t sure what’s out there.
Bob came out to Los Angeles on business once, and wanted to spend a day with me. He wanted to see them filming a movie. I told him they don’t publicize where they’re filming, that’s hard to find. Bob said simply, “I’ll ask the Lord.” We ended up going to the La Brea Tar Pits Museum, full of fossils and exhibits, highly recommended. But as we approached the museum, a woman said, “You can’t go here, you have to walk around. We’re filming a movie!”
That film was called Miracle Mile. That’s right, it had the word “miracle” in the title. Bob said, “You see?” and I said, “That doesn’t prove anything.”
The point is, Bob and I have been sending emails and counter-emails for decades now. Whenever something happened in the news, I could hardly wait to ask Bob’s opinion, prepared to take umbrage at whatever he said, almost disappointed on those occasions when we agreed on something. The last time that happened, I remember thinking, We’re in agreement, what fun is that?
Which made it especially disappointing when, in answer to a question about recent headlines, there was no response from Bob at all. I probed and pried until I got an email from his daughter Julie, saying Bob was in the hospital, in uncertain health. Later I talked to his brother Bill, who said Bob’s condition was serious but they were hoping he’d pull through, since he’d done it before. He wasn’t taking calls but I could wait for further details.
Well, today I got them, in the form of an email from Ashley, his daughter-in-law. The hope for Bob’s recovery was in vain; he’d passed away. She said Bob had always appreciated our friendship, and cherished it to the end of his life. She offered to send me his record of our correspondence, which he’d diligently preserved.
Bob was certain that a man committed to Jesus, upon passing, would enter the Kingdom of Heaven. If that’s true, he’s there now. I don’t know if I’ll be joining him, since I never shared his faith, but I like to think he’s somewhere beyond those Pearly Gates, savoring his reward.
So long, Bob. You’ll be sorely missed.
Arguing with others just isn’t the same.
Terry Black Mystery Writer 