For twenty years, I have regularly told people, “I have the best father-in-law in the world.”

I can’t anymore. Bob’s giant heart finally gave out on October 9th while he was packing for a happily-anticipated trip with my husband and several other family members. Barely mobile, it was understood by him and by all that this was to be his last trip. In true character, the first things he had packed were his tuxedo and a roll of two-dollar bills to hand out to anybody he met. He had envelopes of money prepared for his niece to take home to her family and extended family in Texas. I’m sad for him that he didn’t get to take that trip. But I know he looked forward to it for weeks.

Bob Hamilton was born to an unwed mother and unnamed father in Gary, Indiana, in 1934. But this does not become part of his story until later. He didn’t even seek out his birth-mother until he was in his seventies, not wanting to hurt his “true” mother’s feelings. He was born prematurely, weighing only four pounds and six ounces, at a time when preemies didn’t always survive. But Bob was a survivor, born to live life to the fullest.

He was adopted by Lucille Hamilton and her husband Cecil. Bob’s mom always told him she “picked him off the cherry tree!” Lucille wanted babies more than anything, but due to her own family circumstances, she ended up on the streets at the age of fifteen. She found her way, but while in the hospital for some other kind of procedure, a surgeon performed a hysterectomy on her and didn’t tell her. He judged her as a “wayward young woman.” Such were the God-like prerogatives of doctors in the 1920s, especially over women. It makes me so angry to think about it. Lucille was devastated.

But she was determined to be a mother anyway. Bob was her pride and joy, growing into a healthy, round baby. But life was not easy. Cecil was often drunk, and the family was very poor. Neither of Bob’s parents had a lot of education. Lucille’s ended in eighth grade. She was street smart though.

The Hamiltons found new employment opportunities when they moved to Long Beach, California. There, Lucille adopted a second baby, Sharon, ten years younger than Bob. The Hamiltons lived in a trailer home, and sometimes Bob and Lucille had to go to the local bar to bring Cecil home.

But despite that, Bob felt loved. He loved his family. He had wonderful friends. He had a bicycle. At one point, the family had a dog. And it wasn’t a bad childhood, having nothing to compare it to. 

In his early teens, Bob heard you could make money as a caddy at the local golf course. With his outgoing personality and enthusiasm, he became a very popular caddy. And he learned to play a decent game of golf as well. He gave most of his earnings to his mother, since his father’s contribution to the household budget was unpredictable. His mother did laundry and went into nursing to make ends meet. 

At the club, Bob learned that he could get a caddy scholarship to go to college. His mother encouraged him. And that is how he ended up at UC Berkeley, the first and only person in his family to go to college.

When he was getting ready to drive north, his mother handed him back all the money that he had given to the family while he worked as a caddy over those years. She had saved it all for him for his college expenses. Bob told this story often. 

He thrived at Berkeley, joining a fraternity and getting involved in school activities. He was in the Glee Club. He did a student trip to India that was absolutely eye-opening. He was a member of the California Club and became friends with professors and other high-level students. His grades, perhaps not the best, weren’t bad. He was naturally intelligent, and he loved reading, falling in love with the works of Mark Twain, the poetry of Rumi and many short stories and novels. He was an avid reader all his life of both fiction and non-fiction. 

During his senior year, he became Student Body President at Cal, winning in a landslide. This was a monumental experience. The night before he passed away, he had dinner with all the remaining ASUB presidents from the years before and after him, friends all.

It was at Cal that Bob met Kathy Little, who was also involved in student government at UC Berkeley. The two fell in love and got married after graduation. 

As ROTC, Bob served his mandatory two years in the Air Force, fortunate and grateful that he was able to do so when it was not wartime. Kathy relocated with him while he served. And that concluded his military career.

Then they settled in the Crocker Highlands of Oakland, California, where Bob began a mostly lucrative career in commercial real estate. He formed a partnership called Hamilton Cohn and Thatcher and practiced commercial real estate up until his death. 

From the Crocker Highlands area, Bob and Kathy, always surrounded by friends, moved his family to Lafayette, California, where his four children went to high school and all graduated from UC Berkeley, like their parents. 

The marriage went south. Really south, which was hard on all involved. It wasn’t pretty, a sad tornado.

A few years after he and Kathy split up, Bob reacquainted with Alameda City Manager Dona Hoard with whom he had a treasured relationship for over 30 years. He took care of her when she lost much of her movement in one arm after a mugging. He took care of her again when her cancer came back for the third time and wouldn’t let go.

What Bob will perhaps be remembered for the most was his outgoing, jovial personality and his generosity. He was Santa Claus. In every way.

He loved to send letters, articles of interest, notes of love and appreciation, Xeroxed photos and cut-out heads from photos taped to the front of envelopes, and gifts through the mail. Once we received Easter Peeps smashed in an envelope, another time a breakfast croissant to say he missed his son at a breakfast function. For many years the trunk of his car was full of unusual and fun treasures that he could give away to people if the opportunity to give presented itself. In Bob’s life, that opportunity arose every day. He was famous for handing out those two-dollar bills and always had some in his wallet for the purpose. He paid it forward every day. 

When we announced that his first grandchild was going to be a boy, we found a pile of traditional “boy-oriented” toys on our front porch, including a giant stuffed snake, a football, and a GI Joe (We gave the GI Joe to Good Will). We have many traditions invented or influenced by Bob: the birthday string, the December elf drawers, the funny hats for every occasion, the spinning wheel he gave us one time, the full-length yellow fur coat my husband wears to the Big Game and now our sons have worn for school spirit days. Most of my husband Doug’s friends still have the aluminum ingots Bob brought en masse to give to everyone at Doug’s bachelor party. There was the Christmas he gave us all biker black leather jackets, found at a pawn shop. And the Thanksgiving when he gave everyone attending, some 25 people, light-up shoes. Bob was the king of finding and giving to you random, weird cool things. He made events extra special.

He made a lasting impression on everyone he met with his big guffaw laugh, distinctive deep, gravelly voice, and eyes that twinkled, even when he couldn’t see out of one anymore. His sense of humor about life was contagious. He had the ability to make you feel special at the same time as making himself memorable. He was present. Conversation with him was real and substantive. He was damn smart really, but came off understated in that vein. He was a proud Atheist. He LOVED his family and friends. He was there for us in so many ways and at so many times over the years. He was our benefactor when we most needed him. He almost always said yes to dinner or brunch or going to watch us or the kids perform music or any invitation really. He kept up with everyone in his life that he loved on a regular basis. It was remarkable.

Bob Hamilton was a participator. He was a longtime member of The Rotary Club of Oakland (and Rossmoor these last few years), the Lake Merritt Breakfast Club, the Cal Alumni Association, and the Mark Twain Society, just to name a few. When he moved from the Montclair area of Oakland to Rossmoor, he became a regular at many clubs within the community. He loved to wear his Scottish kilt with the Hamilton tartan to functions of the Caledonian Society of Rossmoor, accompanied by his lady-friend Cynthia. And he loved any excuse to wear his tuxedo!

He enjoyed new experiences in his participatory-spirit. He traveled with us to Burning Man three times, all in his seventies. He loved it!

This is not to say he was rosy all the time. He could get grumpy. And even a little mean when angry. He could be stubborn. Alcohol in him was not flattering, and it was a relief to see him drink less and less as he grew older. It was hard to buy him gifts, because sometimes he’d give them away to others. His wealth was up and down at times. At the end, when his faculties were fading, he didn’t take care of business as well and had pledged to the American Heart Society three times. He made mistakes. He was human. And we loved all that about him too. He didn’t try to mask his flaws or misjudgments. For the most part, he owned them.

I had the pleasure to write his life story. He was my first client when my business Stories to Last was brand new in 2006. As a matter of fact, we were talking at Sunday morning coffee—which we’ve had together almost every Sunday for one hour for over fifteen years—and I was telling him about this new business idea I had for helping people write their personal histories. “But I need to create a model for people to see, my first book, preferably paid,” I fretted.

A few days later, I found a check in the mailbox from Bob with a note that said, “When do we get started?” 

What an amazing way to get to know my father-in-law in a deeper way, as a full human being (Oh and the story goes that Bob’s birth mother worked in a bank. The bank manager was the father. We don’t know if the conception was consensual, but we do know that the woman never married, was a loving aunt but never a mother to any others. When Bob finally got the information, she had recently passed away, but he got in touch with other family members and sent them his book. “We didn’t know about you!” they said.)

Bob introduced me to the Oakland Rotary Club, where I made friends, did service and found many new, wonderful clients, including the Club itself (their centennial book). 

It’s still sinking in. That I’ll never hear his laughter again. That there will be no more Sunday morning coffees. No letters mailed to me telling me what a great mother I am to our two boys. No Papa bringing cash-treats to his grandsons in slightly greasy McDonald’s bags. No Bob smiling in the center of it all at Thanksgiving.

It’s still true. It will always be true. But I hate to put it in the past tense: I had the best father-in-law ever!