Robert I. Shapiro

Catherine Ross sent messages from friends who were unable to attend the Nov. 16 memorial at the NYC Yale Club, some of which were read during the ceremony (ll/24/08):

From Kai Erickson, former Master of Trumbull College:

Older members of the family are always at a loss for words when younger members are taken away. It feels like a violation of natural law. And when the departed person has a very special place in one’s already crowded memory, as Bob does in mine, the loss of words is so utterly complete that it becomes a tribute. That is why I wish so much that I could be with you today in a gathering where feelings are what matter.

From Darryle Pollack:

Even though we were both in Trumbull College, I never really knew Bob back in our Yale days. He was one of many aspects of Yale I didn’t appreciate while I was there. Probably I was too immature to really appreciate Bob—and Yale—back then.

I did appreciate Bob by the time I got to know him a little, which was in the last year of his life. By that time, I had had cancer too. I had some insight into what Bob was going through—although I still could not begin to imagine the courage and character Bob displayed in his battle against cancer. I could only support his strength, his will, and his love and pride in his family, which sustained him throughout his struggle.

So, many years beyond our Yale days, I finally got to know Bob Shapiro. And I am honored that I had the opportunity.

From Shad Dabaghi:

. . . I am disappointed that I cannot make it to the memorial service. . . . My thoughts and prayers will be with Connie, Phil and Elana on 11/16 and with all of our classmates who will be attending the memorial service.

From Rabbi Mindy Portnoy:

How much I wish I could be with all of you on November 16th. Unfortunately, the weekends are my busiest time of work . . .

It’s still so hard to believe that Bob is gone; the last time I’d seen him was at Robbie Schneider’s daughter’s Bat Mitzvah ceremony at my Temple . . . I knew he was ill, but not to that degree. He was such a good friend to me when I was just a lowly sophomore in Trumbull.

. . .

. . . May Bob’s great smile and great soul be with us always.

From Gail Henry:

Unfortunately I have one commitment in November (other than Thanksgiving) and it’s on the 16th . A bunch of us are going to see Tina Turner in Boston that night. . . .. .

I had a lovely long talk with [Connie] just yesterday. I’m sort of the expert on widowhood, being the first in our crowd to go there, and I’d like to think I’m something of a help. Not that there’s really any help, but knowing you’re not alone is some small comfort.

I’ll be there in spirit on the 16th, and will certainly keep coming to reunions. I told Connie I expected her to come too, and she said she will. By 2011, I’m sure she’ll be in a better frame of mind.

. . . The one day I’ll really be thinking of Bob is November 4, if all goes according to plan!

Kurt Schmoke wrote to Harry Levitt (5/29/08):

Bob Shapiro’s volunteer and fundraising work on behalf of the Calvin Hill Day Care Center helped that institution become one of the premier pre-school education programs in Connecticut and, probably, in the US. The lives of countless numbers of families who never met Bob were enriched by his efforts. I recall watching him stand in the middle of the floor at the Center while a group of four year olds buzzed around him. That is a memory that will always bring a smile to my face….

Michael Goodman gave this moving eulogy at Bob’s funeral service:

This year, I have been taking a course on Jewish rituals and traditions. Last week’s class was ironically on death and mourning and included this admonition from the Shulchan Arukh, the 16th century Jewish code of laws:

“It is an important mitzvah to eulogize the deceased properly. This mitzvah requires one to raise his voice to say heartrending words that promote weeping, as well as to recall the praiseworthy attributes of the deceased. It is forbidden to exaggerate his praiseworthiness too much. Instead, we mention his good qualities and add to them a little, but we should not exaggerate. If the deceased possessed no good qualities whatsoever, then nothing should be said.”

Certainly, I have much to say about Bob — and I’ll try not to exaggerate or weep, though I can’t promise either.

It’s tough to sum up 40 years in just a few minutes.

Bob’s and my friendship had an unusual beginning. We met at a Hillel mixer early in our freshman year at Yale. We were both there to meet young women, of course —and particularly young Jewish women— but we found each other. Kismet

We had a lot in common. We were public school kids from the South, not exactly a major substratum of the Yale population. He was from Chattanooga, and I was from Savannah. And we were both raised in an Orthodox shul and knew how much of our identity was tied up in our Jewishness — hence the Hillel mixer.

Our first main point of contention and pride involved determining which of us was poorer and more deserving of our Yale scholarship. We never agreed on that point — though luckily we have become able to stop praising our poverty over the years.

And we both loved sports — though Bob had this crazy predilection for the Red Sox and Celtics—probably from some misguided years spent growing up near Boston.

I started writing about sports, and Bob began his brief but brilliant career with WYBC as a basketball broadcaster. I remember some fun road trips to cover games together. And especially that night at Columbia where he interviewed a famed Yale sports expert—me—at length during halftime. What brilliant insights we both made that night, only to discover that the station had been off the air the entire time!

Then there was that bizarre road trip to Smith where we had almost as much success meeting women as at the Hillel mixer. Tom Ericson can fill in more details of that night. Believe me, it was G-rated. Somehow, none of us had the smoothness that Howard Dean possessed for charming coeds. Of course, Bob did develop charm and a great sales pitch over time. Those helped him win Connie and recruit so many lucky investors over the years.

There were so many happy moments and wistful moments in those four years in New Haven.

I especially remember the 1968 Humphrey campaign, when two idealistic and hopeful Young Democrats sat up most of the night waiting out the election returns, only to end up with Dick Nixon. That night foreshadowed Bob’s long, active, and sometimes tortuous involvement in politics. Bob was never someone who sat passively on the sidelines. He made the calls, raised the funds, wrote the letters, made the contributions, and wore the buttons. Most of us can remember those omnipresent “Impeach Bush” buttons the last few years — he always had extras he was willing to share. Bob always knew right from wrong, right stances on the issues that mattered from wrong ones, and right political leaders from wrong ones.

What always impressed me about Bob at Yale was his ability to connect to so many people. I think I left New Haven knowing about 10 people well. Bob knew dozens. And he kept up the connections. The Class of ’71 table at the Yale Club was an outgrowth of Bob’s emphasis on networking and building new friendships as well as maintaining old ones. He and Bill Primps built a model for the University and constructed an institution whose value continues to grow.

After college, Bob and I lost our connection for a few years. I call them Bob’s California and Israel periods. He was traveling the world building his Jewish commitment and learning to sell. Bob always told me he loved those days — and it was more fun selling shoes than later raising funds and awareness with the American Jewish Congress. Meanwhile I was beginning my extended Jersey period.

I’m not positive just how we reconnected. I think Bob’s aunt in Boston was related to one of my mother’s friends in Savannah and they somehow mentioned that they knew some young guys who had gone to Yale and were both living in or near New York. That’s what we in the South call Jewish tag. In any case, we were “it,” and we found each other again. For me, it was a special reunion. I didn’t and haven’t had many close friendships in my life — and here was one re-found and refreshed.

What developed from then to today was a bond different from our college days but just as vital for both of us.

For many years our discussions on the surface didn’t sound very serious. It seemed that all we talked about were sports and politics with an occasional foray into religion. But there was an undercurrent that we both felt. If you spent part of your youth swimming at Savannah Beach, you know the importance of undercurrent. It can topple you over and pull you in with a strength and tightness that can be exhilarating — if you aren’t afraid to enjoy it. The undercurrent is what I will always remember and prize about my relationship with Bob.

Soon we had wives and then children, and the conversations now became filled with stories about sports and politics, with an occasional foray into religion. But quickly the sports part included Bob’s proud railing on about Phil’s punting and placekicking skills. And the religion part included his proud comments about Elena’s growth into a sophisticated and knowledgeable Bat Mitzvah. There was nothing humble about Bob’s pride in his family.

And the politics became not just about the Democrats vs. the hated Republicans, but about Bob’s commitment to those who were committed to the right things — leaders and potential leaders who did more than talk about what was right, because Bob did more than talk. He got angry and intense and then he directed that anger and intensity to support the causes and people he admired. And he was never shy about letting his views be known.

He dragged me back to Yale mentally and physically for reunions and he built up my interest in two institutions that he cared a lot about, the Calvin Hill Day Care Center and the Joseph Slifka Center for Jewish Life at Yale. Kids and Fairness and Jews — Bob always knew the right issues to focus his attention on.

And, unfortunately, in recent years, our conversations began to focus on health, or lack of it. First my cancer, and then Bob’s. Now we began using words like “chemo” and “diagnosis” and “prognosis” —really fun terms, and Bob would drive me crazy with his tales of lifting hundreds of pounds at the gym (at the same time, no less) and my need to improve my diet and stay healthy. He could be a fanatic and a noodge, but a sincere one.

In case you haven’t noticed, this is the heartrending part of my remarks. Bob nursed and fatootzed me through my lymphoma and even spread the word around our network of Yalies who sent along cards and emails. By the way, I still have the one from Howard Dean. I figured that one was going to be really valuable 4 years ago and I remain hopeful. I wish I could have fatootzed him better through his own travails. But I admired the way he fought and hoped and the way he kept his family in the forefront even while he endured his long battle.

But to get back to the praiseworthiness. Bob taught me, and his other friends, and his children the importance of building connections and staying connected, the importance of faith and acting upon it, the value of commitment and being open about it, the joy of working hard at a job you love and remaining true to your values while you are working. These are the things that touch lives and change lives. As Bob did for all of us.

He was my first friend at Yale 40 years ago — and my only successful connection at a mixer. And as I watched the Celtics pull out a win last night that Bob would have enjoyed thoroughly, I thought about our pickup basketball games and his often misguided jumpshot and my terrible passes, and that brilliant interview that only we heard, and the other conversations spoken and unspoken. And his so many praiseworthy attributes.

Written with love and sadness for my friend, Bob Shapiro,

May 29, 2008

—Michael Goodman