I’m Bob. This is my life so far. Born 1937 in Somerville, New Jersey. My Canadian maternal grandfather, Ralph Ripley, took me out in Lake Ontario when I was nine months old and, paddling furiously, kept my head above water. In second grade, Mom (Joyce) started me on piano lessons and took me to the public library where I fell in love with literature Mom started me on trumpet lessons in sixth grade and made the middle school orchestra. I learned to play basketball when I was ten. I learned to play baseball and football when I was eleven. Freshman year in basketball, five foot three inches tall, I weighed 115 pounds soaking wet. By sophomore year, I had grown to six feet tall. I starred in basketball the last two years. At Somerville High School graduation, I won two awards: sports letters (9) and the highest grades for a male student.
An English degree at Williams College. Johns Hopkins for an MAT degree. Moved to Illinois. Six years of teaching English at New Trier High School. I was a writing teacher without realizing it. PhD at Northwestern University in English/English Education. Two years teaching at the University of Chicago, Graduate School of Education. Returned to New Jersey. Twenty years teaching at Rutgers University, Gradate School of Education. I finished five books at Rutgers. My fifth book, The Consequences of Writing: Enhancing Learning in the Disciplines (Boynton/Cook Publishers, Inc). was my best. I also published thirty journal articles.
Moved to Reno and then to Las Vega. Various jobs in between: Private school (Tahoe City, CA); Nevada Art Center (Carson City, NV); Clark County School District (Las Vegas, NV); and Delphi Institute (Boulder City, NV, a private research firm). We moved to Pasadena. Two years at the University of La Verne teaching doctoral students research in the Department of Organizational Leadership (La Verne, CA).
In between, I spent five years in Canada, including two years at Sheridan Institute of Technology, teaching as a Visiting Professor. Five years in England, including one year at the Writing Across the Curriculum project in London. Three years in Italy, including one year on sabbatical. Nearly every sport: swimming, bicycle riding, riflery (I had a “vision” and threw my Mauser .22 rifle away), canoeing, tennis, skiing, fly fishing, spinning rod fishing, water skiing, mountain climbing (east and west coasts), and sailing. I didn’t forget about the writing teacher role. Permanently grounded in my consciousness.
After two years work teaching research to doctoral students, stopping for cappuccinos to go, a blinding flash occurred. I froze awake. 10:00am. The second one I had at 1:00am in Huntingdon Hospital. Two strokes in one day (December 22, 2009). I learned to swallow again. I learned to walk again. I learned to talk again. I learned to write again.
I’m eighty-three years old and speak slowly. My right arm is stiff, particularly the hand, and my legs creak when I stand up. Yet, when I start writing, consciousness “delivers” words or phrases which I capture on the laptop. I revise endlessly. I publish the book. Move on to the next book. And reread the previous book after publication. The ironies swell and deepen for me. Meditation and understanding is the answer.
However old, I love to play the writing teacher role. To adults or students I say, get some writing done, Anything. Don’t talk for the words trail off. Just write because they’re here to read. On paper or on the laptop. You move more deeply in the writing process. Believe me. You eventually will publish the work. Look, it makes my own writing process more successful. It, for me, is honest and quietly ironic. Don’t forget about music, particularly classical music or straight ahead jazz. And sketching, painting, watercoloring, sculpting which I love but can’t do. Yin-yang, you know. Always. Endlessly circling.
You can contact me here.