Rob Hillas Memories

I remember Rob
Across a lifetime of cherished family moments and gatherings, from PA to Princeton to the coasts of Massachusetts and Maine

At our grandparents in Wyncote, a worshipped big cousin

At Uncle Rod’s in Gwynedd Valley, blowing out birthday candles.

On visits to our home in Cohasset, improving his tennis technique, and talking about world affairs in our living room

In his Manhattan “bachelor pad”, hanging out In the early venture capital years, and Introducing Cindy (a happy occasion!)

At the wheel of his sports car, Uncle Rolly beside him, sheparding me in style (albeit folded in the rear) back to law school (a very cool ride)

In the fabulous just-purchased Grantham vacation house

At Rob and Cindy’s wedding

At their first Princeton home, in very early days lounging on sparsely furnished floors, later opening the door for countless subsequent visits, meals and sleepovers through grad school, sharing the news and excitement of Rob Jr’s soon-to-be arrival, and still later joyously introducing Alison, Mary, and Tim

On Lambert Drive, carving Thanksgiving turkey for legions, or hanging out in smaller groups of family and friends, over other meals, visits and occasions, through the years

On the grass at Tecumseh with our families

I remember Rob
As an avid learner
As a competitor

As the giver of
o wisdom
o and more wisdom
o shelter (from Princeton to Grantham)
o a “beer can couch” (don’t ask!) for my dorm room in Hanover
o some of the best, silliest house-gifts (not a few still proudly on display in Maine cottages)
o the Thanksgiving “butterball hotline” phone # (it was needed)

As blessed with wide-ranging, exceptional talent
As equally blessed with genuine humility and respect for others
o the finest example of great gifts, great success and unfeigned humility I have known.

As a deeply devoted, proud husband, father and grandfather
As a wonderful, loved cousin and friend

As fun
o The email we received from Rob, on arriving in Princeton the afternoon before Thanksgiving, 2022: “Hi Hol, Join us whenever. Aunt Wendy just arrived and Cindy and I are playing in the leaf pile.”

Thank you, Rob. I miss you.
With love, cousin Hol

Dad believed in everything in moderation, including moderation. The exception almost exclusively applied to ice cream, vacations, and, especially, ice cream on vacations.

Rob was the living embodiment of positivity. At Mary's and Jeff's wedding, he gave the best advice for a happy life that I have ever heard. One thing in particular stuck with me: he said that if you don't wake up in the morning excited to face the day, you should find whatever it is that makes you feel excited to face the day and pursue it. What a wonderful perspective to share - to believe that we can control our destiny and fill every day of our one life with joy. His own joy came through in his Christmas cards, which described adventures near and far with family and friends, but my most vivid memory of Rob is in the kitchen at home, proudly presiding over the three turkeys which he masterfully carved every Thanksgiving for those of us lucky enough to be within his loving orbit.

An entirely insufficient accounting of things that I associate with Uncle Rob or are with me today because of...
- Sticky buns
- Hagen Daas. Son of the depression he was not, but Mom was! I had to find the good stuff in Uncle Rob's and Aunt Cindy's freezer. It is in ours today.
- Thomas Sweet's
- Port...nice that the tastes evolved. He was positively excited by the opportunity to pour my first taste.
- Quicken
- Venture capital
- A collection of out of state tax returns that I need for my senior thesis that he tracked down at my request
- Body surfing at the beach
- Princeton Township
- Princeton University. Brother and Sister arrange to see a football game in the fall of 1984. The image is entirely too perfect with leaves in full color, the ease and camaraderie of the day, the family connections all around us. It left a mark that surfaced 3 years later when it was my turn to pick the setting for a slice of life.
- New Hampshire
- Quiet meals after the kids were in bed
- The weather as a (semi) serious topic of conversation...okay, quite serious
- Long meals and even longer conversation
- Cars with a lot of horsepower
- My name
- Deer are dangerous, on the road, at night
- Zbaro's bagels from Grand Central
- Giving directions patiently
- Receiving directions graciously
- Granddad speaking about WW2 for the only time, ever, in the first person
- Emergency rooms are in fact open on Thanksgiving Day

My first memory of Rob is that he was left handed. My mother was left handed, Susan too, and I viewed it as a form of distinction. Back then, Grandpar had found golf, and when his grandchildren (grandsons?) reached a certain age, he gave them a set of golf clubs and golf lessons. In doing so he turned Rob into a right hander, as was pretty routine in those days.

Jim and I overlapped at Dartmouth. Rob was gone before I arrived. By the time I was a junior or senior and starting to explore the world beyond my childhood confines, he was settled in NYC and working at Warburg Pincus. So I would visit Rob, usually at short notice, and use his rent controlled apartment on the East River as a pied a terre for exploring the city. One time he took me to the world premiere of The Towering Inferno, which Warburg Pincus had financed. I was still a college kid, thinking myself mature but with a rather rudimentary knowledge of how the business world worked. But it was easy to see, beyond Rob's obvious intelligence, the focus and determination he brought to work -- and everything else.

I can't leave out the Datsun 240Z. For a while, Rob would park it at my mother's parents' house in Ridgewood and take the bus to and from there to the city. My sister Lynn remembers Rob driving it down to Gwynedd Valley to talk shop with my father. With me headed in another direction, Rob was the son who went into finance that my father never had. And he was obviously very proud of Rob.

In January of 1979, I went back to Charlottesville early to start working as a research assistance to Del Kolve, one of the best medieval literary critics of his era. One night, the phone rang. Rob had an extra ticket to go to London for a week, as his traveling partner (Cindy, it later turned out) had backed out on him at the last minute. I regretfully turned him down, and now I'm sitting here musing about what a wonderful trip and companion I missed out on.

I can think of no better example of Rob's extraordinary generosity and supportiveness that my return from two years of study in England. It was on the morning of Rob and Cindy's wedding. But Rob volunteered to pick up me and my things and take me to the wedding. That meant three of us (Jim being the third) in the 240Z, along with a bike box and suitcase. I cringe at the memory of putting Rob through that particular wringer, but he handled it all, wedding included, with humor and aplomb.

As everyone probably knows, Rob and Cindy took many wonderful pictures of family events, especially Thanksgiving, for decades. Over the years, 148 Lambert Drive became the venue for Thanksgiving Day extended. When my father and Dee were ready to bow out from the huge task of hosting such an event and crowd, Rob and Cindy took it up and made it something special in their own image of thoughtfulness and warm hospitality, plus a dose of family history.

It was always fun to talk to Rob about anything, including important stuff like the best driving routes to and from northern New England. The economy, of course, and business, about which his font of knowledge was endless. But in recent years, my favorite topic was what course(s) he was auditing. And what courses they were! Real, hardcore science courses that sounded fascinating but which I couldn't possibly imagine myself surviving for a college semester. What a model of endless curiosity and lifelong learning.

Rob left us too soon, and there is a hole in the heart of everyone of us. But he also left us with his kindness and friendship over the decades, and the invaluable lesson of a life to the full.

My fondest memory of Uncle Rob is and will always be that moment after stepping into his house and rounding the corner into the kitchen. Inevitably he would be there with a bottle of wine or a dish to serve. He'd look up with a warm smile and exclaim "Hello Tracy! How was your trip? What can I get you?" and you knew right away that you were welcome and among family.

Robert, brother #2
One August morning in 1959 or 60 out of the blue, our father decided we would climb Mount Washington, 5 of us and the dog. Mom would take the public car and meet us at the top. The day was warm when we began. I am reminded of this journey by the reports that MT. Washington on Feb 4, 2023 was minus 108 degrees. On the TV in 2023 was a glimpse of the weather station that looks just like the building we checked out the day we climbed. We were dressed for summer, and felt the cold on the mountain top. The mountain greeted us with snow that August day. Rob was a good sport, his knee was banged up, the dog was tired. We were pretty happy with our success, while cold and hungry, too. I don't remember being tired. We rattled Mom who arrived at the visitor center, while we enjoyed the warmth of the weather station. The snow was blinding us so we did not go hunting for the other building. In the end we waved at Mom as she rode down the mountain, surprised to see us. We walked down the road on our way back. Then we drove back to Massachusetts. Soon to move on to flat Illinois. On another day we were rounded up to climb a sand dune mountain before it became the foundation of an extended college campus. Yes, it was a mountain of slippery sand that we climbed with a crowd of others.

As I think of Rob, brother #2, I know the boy and the man. I think of trust, I think of quiet wisdom, a listener thinking "how can I help" them find their answer. I think of a senior citizen not taking "senior classes" but auditing the hard scientific ones Ivy League students take, and grasping each. I think of the man who encouraged my son's desire to start a business and stood by his side with invaluable wisdom and support. I think of the man my children see as a model of how to live, how to be a great dad and a partner. I think of the brother always quietly there for me as life went by, trusted from our toes upward. I think of the grandfather laughing with his grandchild wishing the picture could have lasted longer.

It is impossible to think of Uncle Rob without thinking of Thanksgiving; which became a special tradition for my dad and I in later years. When I was very young, I considered Thanksgiving to be a giant sleepover with all of my cousins. All of children would sleep downstairs and the adults upstairs. The basement floor was lined with cots and sleeping bags, all of the sleeping arrangements in the home pre-coordinated by Aunt Cindy. It was a favorite time of year where we would play video games, do gymnastics, and run all around the home. As I got older, my dad and I carried on the Thanksgiving tradition as my siblings had athletic obligations conflicting with the holiday. At this point I had been upgraded to a spot in Alison & Mary's room upstairs, but as my dad got older, he was downgraded and banished to a closet with a sign on it that read, "The Dursley Suite;" a play on Harry Potter's bedroom hidden beneath a staircase. I remember arriving in Princeton that year, unloading the car with our luggage and Uncle Rob greeting us at the door with a big smile on his face. He couldn't wait to direct my dad to his sleeping arrangements. We had quite a laugh and this went on for many years to come!

When I was a teenager, Uncle Rob and Aunt Cindy asked if I would travel to New Hampshire with them and help babysit my cousins. I was a bit nervous to go on a trip with my Aunt, Uncle, and cousins. I saw them every Thanksgiving, but I didn't feel I knew them all that well.

The trip was going well. Uncle Rob made the best grilled swordfish I had ever tasted. (I think I ate most of it.) I was having fun playing with Rob, Alison, Tim, and little Mary. One day Uncle Rob pulled me aside and said "Tracy, you need to make your bed every morning." In my teenage defiance I thought, why on earth would making my bed matter? I was sleeping in the loft. No one goes up there. But Uncle Rob had a way of letting you know he wasn't messing around so I begrudgingly followed instructions.

I make my bed every morning, now. There is something about such a simple act that feels grounding, as though you are leaving yourself a gift for the end of a long hard day. Thank you, Uncle Rob, for teaching me the importance of taking the time for the little things. I didn't understand back then but I do now.

In my youngest days, we would often have mom's brothers at our house on 10 Country Club. There were also various Christmases, Avalon days, Mommom and Granddad visits. It's hard to pinpoint one memory because the family always made time to see each other. Truth is when I was young I was low-level afraid of my uncles. I saw them as very proper - I questioned proper. :) Although I do remember one time when Uncle Rob and Uncle Rolly and I (not sure why I was in the car) were driving to Uncle Jim's wedding. We pulled off the highway at the risk of being late so that we could get some very specific mud. I'm unclear as to the importance of this mud but I remember Uncle Rob thinking Uncle Jim would find this funny. I remember thinking that I hoped it didn't get near the wedding dress. :)

I remember one time at mom's house when we were all hanging out in the kitchen. Uncle Rob was sitting by the back door. Little Rob was all of about 1 or 2 and wobbly walking with BowWow. I wanted to know if I stuck my leg out would he know to step over? Ok, that didn't go over well - what was I thinking? eek

I have lots of silly little memories but the mainstay visits were Thanksgiving. Now, this was an evolution over all 49 of my years. Early years of staying in Princeton Wednesday night - we stayed at a motor inn. Then we would all pile into Uncle Rob and Aunt Cindy's running around adding to the morning chaos. As the years progressed Thanksgiving became a whole weekend affair (Wed-Sun)- at Uncle Rob and Aunt Cindy's, no motor inn. Wednesday night a smaller but more formal dinner. Rob at the head of the table hosting lots of conversation. Thursday, Rob would go for a morning run - mom would stock up on depressing articles from the New York Times sitting at the kitchen island. After his return, Uncle Rob, Uncle Rolly, and mom would pass the time discussing these depressing stories and the stock market and overall business of life. We, kids, would bounce from tv to tv watching the parade and eating until it was time to leave. Around 11 am the topic of directions would ensue. Uncle Rob patiently gave them each year as if they had changed or we had never been there before. Some years there was a swirl of kids claiming cars that aunts, uncles, and grandparents were driving. Eventually, the directions were written and photocopied.

While the years brought all sorts of hurdles in life, Thanksgiving was predictable. And once a year it was never a question as to where I would spend that weekend. Princeton. What marks me most about Uncle Rob was his stable, consistent, and humble generosity. Offering a laugh, an ear, some good conversation, or some competitive football never judgment. Uncle Rob never boasted about himself - instead, he was endlessly curious about others. Growing up with an adult like that in your life is a gift - a true gift. As a kid, it was everything to be "seen" and "accepted". As I grew older that little kid's fear, morphed into respect and immense love. I am profoundly grateful for his presence in my life. I will miss him.

Dad was always incredibly active. He also unfailingly attended all our sporting events.

In high school, I was on the cross-country team. Our races were on a 5k course, usually some series of interconnected loops.

Dad would never just stand and wait at the finish line. Instead he would sprint around the course, so I'd see him a number of times during any given race.

Never knowing where he would pop out, I would always push as hard as possible, just in case he was around the next corner with his watch. He'd shout splits as a I passed, however random the distance may be.

Whenever I finally approached the finish line, he'd be there as well, cheering me through.

When Dad was a kid, he and his siblings adopted an injured white duck that they named Herbie. Over time, Herbie became happily accustomed to people, and spent years running around the golf course antagonizing golfers, much to Dad's delight.

When Jon and I moved to Lambertville, we met a few white ducks on the nearby canal. We became very attached to them, often visiting them to say hi and to bring them healthy duck food. Whenever they were in town, Mom and Dad would come say hi to the ducks. Dad especially loved them; happily feeding them & chatting with them.

One day, one of the ducks was badly injured by a dog. We called home, and Dad immediately jumped in the car to try to rescue "one of the Herbies". We didn't manage to get her off the canal, but she did indeed recover and enjoyed many future visits from Dad.

I remember my parents hiding Rob's grades from us one time in Kentucky because, I have always suspected they were so impossibly good.

I remember how hard it was for me to learn how to ride a bike. I remember Rob, three years younger, basically jumping on his bike and happily riding away.

I am not good at fishing, I empathize with the fish. I remember, probably in Maine, being on a cold, scary, deep, green, ocean in flimsy boat probably with my parents, brothers and sister. We are fishing. No one catches a fish, but Rob catches two at the same time.

I remember around 62 years of guilt. We roomed together as high school kids on the second story of our house in Glenview Illinois. On a snowy day I lured Rob to look out our open window toward a snowy ledge and then I pushed him out wearing pajamas and closed the window. I felt bad about it ever since then.

I do not like to be cold. But I remember Rob and I shooting off plastic rockets powered by water, a little manual pump and air pressure. On happy, cold, Chicago winter days we would play at that for hours. I do not know why, or how.

Time passes. The little stuff becomes big stuff and the big stuff is forgotten.

Rolly

Shortly after Alison and I started seeing each other, I was living in a house in Princeton with multiple roommates and the kitchen situation in that house was less than ideal. Alison and I had decided to try to make homemade gnocchi for dinner one Saturday night. Rob and Cynthia were having dinner with friends and had kindly offered to let us use their kitchen in Princeton for the evening.

Once you've decided to make gnocchi, it seems like you may as well make a lot of them. So we bought a lot of potatoes and started peeling them. I had never had a garbage disposal before, so I was unaware that potato peels shouldn't go down the disposal. That evening, I put a lot of potato peels down that disposal. We cooked our gnocchi, and had a passable dinner. I felt good that we had spare gnocchi to leave Rob and Cynthia!

We started to get the dishes into the dishwasher when the evening took a turn for the worse and we realized that the sink wasn't draining properly, at all...

Rob and Cynthia came home, and after quickly assessing the situation, Rob shooed us out of the kitchen, saying that he could fix the sink issue. I was embarrassed, but wasn't about to question my future father-in-law.

It wasn't until I was back at home that evening, or perhaps a few days later, that I learned that potato peels in that quantity will, with near certainty, destroy a garbage disposal. I'm quite certain that Rob knew immediately what I had done, but he had the grace and finesse to allow me to temporarily 'save face' in the moment.

While hopefully a minor incident, it was emblematic of how Rob would remain calm in the moment and consistently put other's feelings above his own.