FIRST AND LAST
Two newpaper columns.
The first of the following two newspaper columns was published when Robert was 23 years old, just out of the Navy. The second was published, by chance, on the last day of his life, and was passed around in the hospital waiting room by the dozens of people who had gathered there. These articles reveal in his own words Robert's brave and generous spirit.
Accident takes the Bravado from a Man
Does aught befall thee? It is good; it is that fragment of fate which the universe hath ordained for thee since the beginning of time, and comprises part of the Great Web.
-Marcus Aurelius, "Meditations"
The final year I spent in the Navy was one of harsh physical training, abstinence from rich foods and alcohol, and mental conditioning, all for the sake of returning to Auburn to walk on as a football player.
I was brash, cocky, hell-for-leather in relationships, and didn't treat my fellow shipmates as cordially as before. My intimate friends became few in number, and I patronized them shamelessly, I recall.
As a result, when I left the squadron in the spring of '85, I don't believe I was sorely missed. To be certain, in any crucial circumstance I was an able diver and team player, but the magical relationships I had enjoyed in earlier years were gone. Something bad had happened to me along the way, and I feel it may have been a kind of overbearing egotism--foolish pride in things I should have taken for granted.
My plans for the future were large. I intended to try out for the football team here, play a stellar four years, graduate, and return to the Navy as an officer and fly helicopters. The world was my oyster, I thought as I drove eastward, back to Alabama and a most humbling fate.
I was one hell of a physical specimen then. At six-two and 230 pounds, I had a 32-inch waist and 17-inch biceps. In restrooms I would often linger in front of the mirror, flexing my muscles and admiring the fine line of my jaw. God I was vain. I think at that time I would gladly have cloned and married myself.
A few days afterward, on a balmy evening in May, I performed my final dive from a tiny platform in a tree at the Kappa Sigma house. Moments earlier, I had been talking with a fullback named Bo Slaughter, a transfer player from Georgia. We had been discussing practice, and how hard Monday's was going to be. A minute or two later, I lay gasping for breath, paralyzed forever from the chest down.
No more rugby, football, hero-dreams or chopper-flying. At the ripe old age of 22, I was a cripple. Recovery was slow, but thanks to the prime physical condition I'd been in, it wasn't as bad as it could have been.
And it was also time to eat a big ol' chunk of humble pie. And during the course of digestion, I became a kinder, more thoughtful person. My parents, my sister Mary, and friends stood by me through the long recovery, and I re-entered the mainstream of society a more educated man, though college still lay before me.
I embraced Stoicism as my pet philosophy, Raggae as my music, and learned that a kind word goes a hell of a lot farther than bullying and badgering.
Paul Davis at the Lee County Eagle gave me a chance to work in the journalism field and gave me a future; and life resumed normalcy.
And the one thing I learned most forcefully, and now understand as absolute truth, is that physical prowess is a privilege, not a right. I'm not trying to sell you Amway, but with warm weather right around the corner, consider the consequences of your recreational activities. For although Fate may have in mind a single course, She may always be tempted by a brash young fool's shenanigans!
-Rob Mount
Two newpaper columns.
The first of the following two newspaper columns was published when Robert was 23 years old, just out of the Navy. The second was published, by chance, on the last day of his life, and was passed around in the hospital waiting room by the dozens of people who had gathered there. These articles reveal in his own words Robert's brave and generous spirit.
Accident takes the Bravado from a Man
Does aught befall thee? It is good; it is that fragment of fate which the universe hath ordained for thee since the beginning of time, and comprises part of the Great Web.
-Marcus Aurelius, "Meditations"
The final year I spent in the Navy was one of harsh physical training, abstinence from rich foods and alcohol, and mental conditioning, all for the sake of returning to Auburn to walk on as a football player.
I was brash, cocky, hell-for-leather in relationships, and didn't treat my fellow shipmates as cordially as before. My intimate friends became few in number, and I patronized them shamelessly, I recall.
As a result, when I left the squadron in the spring of '85, I don't believe I was sorely missed. To be certain, in any crucial circumstance I was an able diver and team player, but the magical relationships I had enjoyed in earlier years were gone. Something bad had happened to me along the way, and I feel it may have been a kind of overbearing egotism--foolish pride in things I should have taken for granted.
My plans for the future were large. I intended to try out for the football team here, play a stellar four years, graduate, and return to the Navy as an officer and fly helicopters. The world was my oyster, I thought as I drove eastward, back to Alabama and a most humbling fate.
I was one hell of a physical specimen then. At six-two and 230 pounds, I had a 32-inch waist and 17-inch biceps. In restrooms I would often linger in front of the mirror, flexing my muscles and admiring the fine line of my jaw. God I was vain. I think at that time I would gladly have cloned and married myself.
A few days afterward, on a balmy evening in May, I performed my final dive from a tiny platform in a tree at the Kappa Sigma house. Moments earlier, I had been talking with a fullback named Bo Slaughter, a transfer player from Georgia. We had been discussing practice, and how hard Monday's was going to be. A minute or two later, I lay gasping for breath, paralyzed forever from the chest down.
No more rugby, football, hero-dreams or chopper-flying. At the ripe old age of 22, I was a cripple. Recovery was slow, but thanks to the prime physical condition I'd been in, it wasn't as bad as it could have been.
And it was also time to eat a big ol' chunk of humble pie. And during the course of digestion, I became a kinder, more thoughtful person. My parents, my sister Mary, and friends stood by me through the long recovery, and I re-entered the mainstream of society a more educated man, though college still lay before me.
I embraced Stoicism as my pet philosophy, Raggae as my music, and learned that a kind word goes a hell of a lot farther than bullying and badgering.
Paul Davis at the Lee County Eagle gave me a chance to work in the journalism field and gave me a future; and life resumed normalcy.
And the one thing I learned most forcefully, and now understand as absolute truth, is that physical prowess is a privilege, not a right. I'm not trying to sell you Amway, but with warm weather right around the corner, consider the consequences of your recreational activities. For although Fate may have in mind a single course, She may always be tempted by a brash young fool's shenanigans!
-Rob Mount
posted by Rena at
11:30 AM
4 Comments:
Today I received this message from Kenny LIkis in Cambridge, Massachusetts:
Rena, Clive was among the people I sent a note about Robert's website. Clive forwarded it to (his son) Raphael.
Here's what I heard from Clive:
You are quite right, Kenny, these are remarkable and moving pieces. How fragile life is, and how foolishly comfortable we are with our sterotypes. I am glad you sent the link.
Raphael's message came with this subject line: "Powerful writing from a true Southern writer." He wrote:
Wow Kenny,
Dad forwarded me the link for Robert's journalism and I was really overcome by the power of his prose. I was immediately reminded of Bobbi Ann Mason and Rick Bragg--two Southern writers you probably know. They both use a combination of sparse detailing and that particular southern melifluousness to dramatic effect.
And it's clear Robert had the same magic going on. Well done to all who made the work more widely available.
Rob and I were in the same squadron in Washington. I joined the squadron just before Perth. Rob was one of the funniest people I've ever met. I got to know him some when we pulled in the Phillipines in '82. I had some really good pictures but lost my camera. I kept in touch with Rob and in '87 my wife and I visited him with my then month old son at his dad's house. Great seeing him although it was for a very short time. You're missed Rob!! (I found out about your passing a couple years later by a fellow YN.)
Scott W.
AD1 ret.
Thank you Scott W for telling me about your friendship with Robert. This is the strangest of communication devices, not knowing who reads what or who you are. I always thought that if we set something up for Robert, as my mom has done, that it would take off. Rob knew so mnay people in so many places. I'd imagine there are fabulous stories out there that need to be told, and many that perhaps don't need to be told, not in public anyway. Thanks Scott and others who come this way.
Not a day goes by that I don't think of Rob. While attending Auburn, Farr led me into his pet store and introduced me to one of the greatest impacts in my life. Eventually, he would hire me at a very generous rate to work with him and Robin. I still remember him laughing tremendously after I was bitten by one of his breeding sugar gliders he kept in his office. I was devastated when I heard about his death. I had lost a true friend. I had lost someone who had taught me so much about life. I am forever grateful for your son. He lives on in my heart.
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