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I first met Bob when we entered the same pledge class of the fraternity in 1949. We were college freshmen in an unusual structure. Most of the upper classmen were ex-GI's from World War II and, although only five or six years older rather than the usual two or three, it might just as well have been another generation.
This is what attracted us to this particular fraternity. These guys were all serious students, wanting to get their money's worth out of the GI bill. This was not the stereotypical rich kid, partying group. They had banded together to live in a run down house off campus and hire a full time cook.
We had a guy with a plate in his head from the Battle of the Bulge. There was a pilot who had flown the hump. There was a navy commando and a marine corporal who became company commander on a Pacific Island when nearly all others were casualties. These guys were more like our fathers than “brothers.”
There was no hazing–our pledge duties consisted of raising money and applying it to various house improvement projects. Eleanor, the African-American cook, was a treasure. Dorm food in those days was abominable and off-campus eateries were almost non-existent (fast food WAS non-existent).
Bob was about 5 ft. 8 in, 150 pounds and reasonably good-looking. He wore glasses and had thinning black hair combed straight over to hide the beginnings of a bald spot. Most of the time he wore a frown but had a hearty cackle-like laugh if you struck the right note. We became roommates. I really don't know why we got along so well. He was pre-med; I was a chemistry major. I played on all the intramural teams I could find time for. Bob cared less about sports. But whenever we could spare the time we would discuss life and share our problems into the wee hours of the morning.
I guess what sealed our bond was monthly trips to Philadelphia, about 65 miles away. I had been dating Marie since high school and she was now in nurses' training at the University of Pennsylvania. Bob's home was in north Philly. I was lucky enough to have a car. So I traded him trips home for overnight stays at his house.
Studies were number one priority most of the time. But not always. Bob borrowed a full size real skeleton from the biology department for some project. Someone got his hands on a coffin–the old six-sided kind. We put the skeleton in the coffin and six of us lugged it to a local bar. With a candle burning on each end of the lid, we paraded, pallbearer style, into the bar – balanced the coffin on several stools, put the candles on the bar, opened the lid and ordered seven beers! Incredibly we were served – with the admonition to drink up and get out!
In our junior year, Bob became commissar for the fraternity house. Eleanor loved him. He ordered the food supplies and ran the dining room like a ship commander. This meant she could be queen of the kitchen and not have to worry about the mundane stuff.
During spring break, Bob decided to stay at the house and do some cleaning and repairing. Since I had no funds, I volunteered to stay and help him. While cleaning out the pantry prior to some painting, we found about a half dozen large porcelain crocks with some evil smelling liquid and what appeared to be mold growing on top. We dumped it out in the back yard and scrubbed the crocks.
When Eleanor returned she went ballistic! It seems she had been saving the juice from the gallon cans of cherries she used for pies and was in the first stage of winemaking. Our pleas of how bad it smelled and looked fell on deaf ears. It took TWO bottles of Scotch to pacify her. (Eleanor lived past her 100th birthday!)
After graduation, Bob went to University of Pennsylvania medical school and I went west to graduate school. A year later Bob was best man at our wedding. He and Marie got along great.
Years later we were in Hudson Falls, N.Y. and Bob was doing a residency at the U.S. Naval Hospital in Bethesda, Md. I had finished my time in the army and Bob had agreed to three years sea duty in return for the stint at Bethesda. During the rare times he could get away, he would fly up and spend the weekend with us. Bob was serious about medicine but off duty he unwound first class. On more than one occasion, I swear I could smell the gin as soon as they opened the door of the aircraft.
We named our first son after him and after that he stayed relatively sober. The high point of his visit was pushing little Bob in his stroller.
In January 1961 we were two days away from moving to Cleveland when the call came. It was Bob's sister. She was a mess. Bob was dead from a fire aboard the USS Saratoga in the Mediterranean.
At that time, fires on aircraft carriers were common, and perhaps still are. To keep the fire from spreading and reaching munitions, they sealed off a compartment and 15 men, all officers, died. This included Bob who was second-in-command medical officer for the Sixth Fleet and the Fleet chaplain.
In the midst of a mid-winter move to a new job in Cleveland with a 2-year-old and a wife 5 1/2 months pregnant, there was no way I could get to the family in Philadelphia. This was a tough decision. But maybe for the best. I visited the family the following summer and we all were emotional wrecks. I decided it best that it not be repeated. His mother cried from the time I arrived until I left. All his father could talk about was how Bob had complained bitterly about having to buy a sword that he never got to wear. (Officers needed full dress uniforms whether they wore them or not.)
We always exchanged Christmas cards with his family. Bob's father died relatively young–I don't think he ever recovered from the shock. In later years, his mother would call me over the Christmas holidays. Sometimes I called her.
It has been 40 years since his death and I often feel sad that I was unable to help the family emotionally. The biggest tragedy is that an excellent physician who was just beginning to utilize his many years of training disappeared from our midst.
I am grateful for the few years I shared with Robert George Galbraith, Jr. and I think I am stronger for it.
Editor's note: The author, Richard J. Stamets, can be reached at 440-352-0416; stamets@apk.net
Bob Galbraith '52