The Leader of the Pack

True leaders are so rare one should salute them like flags as they pass through our lives. Today is a day of celebration for the life of one such leader, Larry Don Robertson, born 61 years ago and taken way too early from a circle of family and friends not ready to let him go. True friends are also hard to find and Larry was friend to a wide, eclectic band he orchestrated like a true maestro through nearly 50 years.

Larry was simply "The Leader of the Pack".

We never called ourselves a pack, or verbally anointed Larry as leader. This was all unspoken as male structures often are, a loose come and go, come as you are fellowship of merry men where Larry was at once Robin Hood and the Pied Piper. The core came together in high school, cemented in gym classes athletic combat and honed in illegal beer runs and pranks, a drinker thinker society where we thought ourselves wise beyond our years yet secretly scared by how much we didn’t know.

Larry was our Neal Cassady, every bit the “fastest man alive” as Jack Kerouac’s friend and literary subject. Larry was epic and should have gone out like Cassady, romantically dying of exposure while counting railroad ties for no good reason at all. Instead it was cancer. Railroad ties make so much more sense.

The fact Larry was the fastest man alive was no exaggeration. Anyone who ever had him guard you in basketball knew his hands could come from all angles and directions like a rainstorm, making you wish there were a referee to be on your side so you could get a shot off. We played together in Colt League baseball, Larry at third and me at first. When the ball was hit to Larry, I went to the bag and prayed he handled it cleanly so I had a chance to survive the throw. Larry could throw harder than any pitcher we had and if he bobbled the ball and time grew short, he would snatch up the horsehide and fire a laser with hair on it to first. If it was in the air, I was just going to get my palm bruised through the glove. If it hit the ground first I might lose manhood I hadn’t even reached yet.

I won’t list the members of the pack for fear of leaving someone out as Larry forged friendships far and wide. Plus, the statute of limitations may not have run out on some of our adventures. Suffice it to say most members joined in high school and have been members for life.

Larry’s leadership gift was instigation, he was the one who came up with the ideas and convinced one of the merry band it was the best plan ever at that moment in time. He could have been the originator of the redneck phrase, “Hold my beer and watch this.”

Since the group was originally forged as a drinker thinker society, fueled by overpriced Texas Pride six packs delivered out the back door of Barcia’s Food Mart, alcohol has been a second instigating member. Different members have struggled with alcohol addiction, and over the years most beat of us were able to lay it down though one did let the bottle take his life. Larry never had that problem, but nurtured several through the tough road to sobriety.

Larry did a lot of amazing things in his life, teaching high school science while simultaneously starting several successful businesses. But his crowning achievement has to be Club Rob.

Larry told me once he was just driving down this country road looking for likely places to negotiate an oil lease when he saw this structure up on the hill with a For Sale sign on the fence. He didn’t even know what it was at the time but he was drawn to it. After inquiring, he discovered it had been a black school back during segregation and was being offered for sale by the school district. Larry negotiated a favorable deal that included him becoming a teacher for the school district and bought the structure.

No great man story is complete without the great, patient woman story behind him and Ginny Robertson fits a starring role. Not many women that pretty and intelligent would consent to move into a converted school and turn it into a home where gourmet mushrooms could be grown in the classrooms and a merry band of buddies could find solace and comfort while buzzing about. We all knew Larry was always the luckiest man imaginable.

Club Rob didn’t gather its name until the last few years when Larry and Ginny made it a music venue. It was just Larry and Ginny’s Place. In the early years, it was a place the gang could gather and play full court basketball in the gym, or plug in guitars and jam, trying to keep up with Larry, who was our version of Clayton Delaney, the best guitar picker in our town. The gym also housed for a time a couple of band members who busted out of the oil business in the 1980s and slept in the bleachers while trying to figure out their next move. It was a haven as well as a home and the Robertson’s had their own page in the Homeowners Actuarial Tables in Texas as they were the only family living in a converted school. I think the actuarial page underlines the fact Ginny is truly a saint.

I hadn’t been to Club Rob in 20+ years as you have to be going to Jewett, TX to get there and it wasn’t on any of the routes I would make from my Tennessee home to Texas roots. I had seen the Robertsons on a five year cycle of high school reunions, always with the promise I was going to make it by Jewett soon. When I heard of Larry’s diagnosis, I felt compelled to keep my promise. I went to Club Rob just before July 4th.

Club Rob has expanded in two decades. The three hole golf course is still out there somewhere, and a pool has been added. There is a stage in the gym for the music dates. There are tables and chairs and couches of the gathering sort in different nooks and crannies, for Club Rob is a people place first and foremost. There was a herd of tiny deer that may have escaped from Santa Claus in the distance and so the fences are high. The classrooms are still there though no longer fertile for gourmet mushrooms as Larry has moved on with three or four more successful businesses since then.

Larry was same expansive, inclusive self except the cancer had slowed him to where he was probably the fastest man alive only in spirit. Phillip McAlilley had been invited up from Houston because I was coming. Phillip was likely there to help carry the conversation because Larry tired easily and my throat was constricted by the reality of mortality and my own inability to formulate encouraging words. Phillip did a fine job as he could always carry on both ends of a conversation if needed. The conversation was the usual wide-ranging semi good natured BS that has highlighted the merry band friendships since we were high school freshmen. We even went into Jewett and got some good Mexican food.

Larry was the first one to bed and I followed a couple hours later as Ginny & Phillip outlasted me as well. Larry and I got to spend some quality time talking over breakfast the next morning before I saddled up the rental car to leave. He walked me out and vowed we needed to get together again, both knowing we wouldn’t in this life unless he could pull off a miracle recovery. We hugged and teared up but neither broke down.

Larry is like Jim, from the old cowboy song “Jim, I Wore A Tie Today”. Larry Don has gone ahead to mark the trail so the rest of us cowpokes can find our way when the time comes for the last corral. I am not able to make it to Club Rob today for his celebration of life, but I’m there in spirit and celebrating privately that Larry was my friend. His friendship was a blessing for me. I would gladly play follow the leader again anytime. I would even wear a tie.