Monday, March 21, 2016
Upon reflection, it seems fitting to add to my earlier condolence to the family of Bob Lehmann. In a perfect world, this is the sort of story one would share in a eulogy or at the wake, but because I am located in Texas and only lately learned of his Bob's death, and because it may be of interest to our many family members and friends, I include it here.
For many years, I have always referred to my cousin Bob as "Squirrel," even to family members who know him as Bob. Once my son asked me, "Why do you always call Bob 'Squirrel'?"
Two reasons: (1) Clarity, and (2) Habit.
(1) Clarity. Once Bob had transferred to (West) Irondequoit High School from Ben Franklin HS during our middle high school years, we had many mutual friends. When sharing stories, I once included a reference to "my cousin Bob Lehmann."
That was met with blank stares. "Who?" they asked. And I described Bob as the guy who.... And I described some characteristic or event I knew they would connect to Bob. Finally, the light came on and they said, "Ohhhhhh. You mean Squirrel." Then they said (somewhat in disbelief), "He's your cousin?"
If Bob did not know everyone in Rochester and Irondequoit, at least he seemed to know everyone I knew. That's understandable: He attended two high schools, he owned his gas station for many years, he was a champion wrestler, he attended RIT, he worked at Kodak, he lived his whole life in or near Irondequoit, he had five sons who became known in their own right, and Bob was a fun guy who had exploits that generated funny stories when guys gather over a friendly brewski. So, clarity. Everyone seemed to know who you were talking about when you referred to a guy named "Squirrel." And the name fits: His cockiness, his assuredness, his quickness, the way he moved. "Turtle" would not have stuck the way "Squirrel" did. So after that epiphany, I always used "my cousin Squirrel" for clarity and their understanding. But it was always followed by (somewhat in disbelief), "He's your cousin?"
(2) Habit. Once I realized everyone knew Bob as Squirrel, it just became a lazy habit to always use that appellation.
Because our contacts had become so rare, I used our last meeting nine years ago to find out (among other things) how he came by the name "Squirrel."
It seems that Bob and his friends would go to the pool in Seneca Park. Perhaps he was too young at the time or the lifeguards had closed the pool for lessons, or he was simply waiting for the pool to open after lessons. At any rate, the lifeguards were in their towers and soon-to-be-known-as Squirrel was in a tree just outside of the pool enclosure. He would throw acorns at the lifeguards, one at a time over time, hitting them. These tiny strikes puzzled the lifeguards initially, but soon they espied the kid in the tree. Game on. They pretended to play along.
Lifeguard A: "Hey, where are these acorns coming from?"
Lifeguard B (loudly, feigning puzzlement): "I don't know...it must be a squirrel."
Squirrel's friends must have heard this exchange because they spread the word and forever after everyone knew Robert Paul Lehmann as "Squirrel."
Most of the mutual friends he and I shared never knew his real name. And he was/is? famous. A few years before Bruce Marshall died, Bruce and I visited Squirrel when he lived on Colebrook Drive. When I asked Bruce if he knew my cousin Squirrel, Bruce replied, "Of course I know Squirrel; everybody does. But I didn't know he was your cousin."
Bob's legend lives on...
