Blog

Robert A. Moureaux

b. Oct 14th, 1912

d. May 8th, 2008

Never had I met a kinder and more humble man than Bob Moureaux. The first time that I saw Bob was about 4 years ago, whilst walking my dog Kiwi past his house where he was doing some yard work. I mistook Bob for a man 10 years younger than he was. His 3rd wife Mildred was still alive then, and a few weeks later I visited with them on their front porch, again with my faithful and constant canine companion Kiwi, who was an ambassador of good will in her own rite.

Bob embodied to me a simple man who had a heart of gold. He loved country music, in his younger days he played guitar in a trio that on several occassions played gigs in Greenwich Village, NYC.

Each of Bob's three wives, who he endearingly referred to as his "girls", held a place of honor in his heart.

Lillian was his spring romance, as they met at a local dance and married when they were in their 20's. Bob's stories of the early years of finding work during the depression and war years included briefly owning and cooking in a diner where coffee sold for 5 cents a cup, later working in a tommy gun factory as quality control, than finally landing a job in the railroad business, first shoveling coal, later driving the engine for 30+ years until he retired.

But I digress about Lillian, the first love of his life, for whom he bought the house on 9th St. in the 1930's where he lived out his days. Cancer took Lillian at the young age of 29 on Christmas Eve. Bob nursed and cared for her during her illness and her final days, as he did with each of his successive wives.

A few years later Bob met a teacher, Julia, his summer and fall romance. They were married for about 44 years until her death in 1990, and had three children: Keith, Gary, and Elaine. Bob's fondness of telling about the road trips that Julia and he took together reflected a sense of adventure that they shared.

Mildred was Bob's winter romance. They married late in life in their 80's after she lost her first husband. Bob and Mildred had known each other since high school, which they pointed out to me during that first porch visit.

Bob was born just a few miles from where he died. Last year David and I invited Bob to show us his birthplace and childhood homes, and the location of the one room school house that is no longer standing, but where he completed his elementary years. Oh the stories that Bob shared with us about the days when his mother collected laundry from the residents of Milford on her horse and buggy, than washed them on a primitive scrubbing board. Bob's father hand cut and hewn trees, which he manually dragged out of the woods to be made into railroad ties. And many other stories too numerous to mention here.

In the few short years that I knew Bob, his ability to share his stories and to solicit and remember the details about our lives was astounding. David and I rejoiced after visits with Bob, which were often filled with laughter and occassionally a few tears, there were stories of struggles and good times, triumphs and losses. Bob never thought of himself as an old person, and was always expressing gratitude for the people in his life, of which he had many friends who looked out for him. Bob also had some favorite expressions:

"Do drop in."

"I eat like I work, I don't work much, so I don't eat much."

"Here's looking up your address!"

"We're friends to the end."

The essence of Bob remains with me, my life is enriched having known him, and I'm grateful to have been a friend to the end. So Bob, we'll miss you and "here's looking up your address!"