Mr. Donaldson - R.I.P. 10/15/2014

Thank you, Jeff. A nice tribute to a great man.

John and Janis
 
Thank you Jeff for this wonderful tribute. Bob was a great friend. After receiving my motorcycle license in March of 2012, with only 250 miles of practice before flying back to New Hampshire, I headed out with friends to attend NatStoc. Bob was one of those friends. He immediately took me under his wing, and made sure that I made it through intersections, lane changes, and held back so that I was not the last in line. I loved him from the day that I met him. When Randy and I arrived at an event, I always scanned the crowd to see if Bob had arrived safely, and it was his hug that I wanted first! I know in my heart that Bob used EVERY bit of energy that he could muster in order to attend DinkiStoc, so that he could say goodbye to friends. Bob was there waiting for me when Randy and I arrived and I had tears in my eyes when Bob rushed to greet me before I could even get off my bike. I knew that this would be the last time that I would see him. When it was time to leave and Bob gave me his goodbye hug, I kissed him and we exchanged "I love you", I knew it would be the last time that I would hold this great man. I cried all the way home. Bob is with us all, and I am so grateful to have friends that have the same feelings about Bob in common. It binds us, and now we shall keep his memory alive.
 
Well . . . I've been searching high and low for where I stashed this story away and finally found it. It's better as written than anything i would paraphrase. Hopefully we all will honor Bob by following his example of a life lived well.
Shuey



When I was a young boy, my father had one of the first telephones in our neighborhood. I remember the polished, old case fastened to the Wall. The shiny receiver hung on the side of the box. I was too little to reach the telephone, but used to listen with fascination when my mother talked to it.

Then I discovered that somewhere inside the wonderful device lived an amazing person. Her name was "Information Please" and there was nothing she did not know. Information Please could supply anyone's number and the correct time.

My personal experience with the genie-in-a-bottle came one day while my mother was visiting a neighbor. Amusing myself at the tool bench in the basement, I whacked my finger with a hammer, the pain was terrible, but there seemed no point in crying because there was no one home to give sympathy.

I walked around the house sucking my throbbing finger, finally arriving at the stairway. The telephone! Quickly, I ran for the footstool in the parlor and dragged it to the landing. Climbing up, I unhooked the receiver in the parlor and held it to my ear.

"Information, please," I said into the mouthpiece just above my head.
A click or two and a small clear voice spoke into my ear.
"Information."

"I hurt my finger..." I wailed into the phone, the tears came readily
enough now that I had an audience.

"Isn't your mother home?" came the question.

"Nobody's home but me," I blubbered.

"Are you bleeding?" the voice asked.

"No,"I replied. "I hit my finger with the hammer and it hurts."

"Can you open the icebox?" she asked.

I said I could.

"Then chip off a little bit of ice and hold it to your finger," said the
voice..

After that, I called "Information Please" for everything. I asked her for help with my geography, and she told me where Philadelphia was. She helped me with my maths.

She told me my pet chipmunk that I had caught in the park just the day before, would eat fruit and nuts.

Then, there was the time Petey, our pet canary, died. I called,
"Information Please," and told her the sad story. She listened, and then said things grown-ups say to soothe a child. But I was not consoled. I asked her, "Why is it that birds should sing so beautifully and bring joy to all families, only to end up as a heap of feathers on the bottom of a cage?"

She must have sensed my deep concern, for she said quietly, " Wayne , always remember that there are other worlds to sing in."

Somehow I felt better.

Another day I was on the telephone, "Information Please."

"Information," said in the now familiar voice.

"How do I spell fix?" I asked.

All this took place in a small town in the Pacific Northwest . When I was nine years old, we moved across the country to Boston . I missed my friend very much.

"Information Please" belonged in that old wooden box back home and I somehow never thought of trying the shiny new phone that sat on the table in the hall. As I grew into my teens, the memories of those childhood conversations never really left me.

Often, in moments of doubt and perplexity I would recall the serene sense of security I had then. I appreciated now how patient, understanding, and kind she was to have spent her time on a little boy.

A few years later, on my way west to college, my plane put down in Seattle .. I had about a half-hour or so between planes. I spent 15 minutes or so on the phone with my sister, who lived there now. Then without thinking what I was doing, I dialed my hometown operator and said, "Information Please."

Miraculously, I heard the small, clear voice I knew so well.

"Information."

I hadn't planned this, but I heard myself saying,

"Could you please tell me how to spell fix?"

There was a long pause. Then came the soft spoken answer, "I guess your finger must have healed by now."

I laughed, "So it's really you," I said. "I wonder if you have any idea how much you meant to me during that time?"

"I wonder," she said, "if you know how much your call meant to me. I never had any children and I used to look forward to your calls."

I told her how often I had thought of her over the years and I asked if I could call her again when I came back to visit my sister.

"Please do," she said. "Just ask for Sally."

Three months later I was back in Seattle .

A different voice answered, "Information."

I asked for Sally.

"Are you a friend?" she said.

"Yes, a very old friend," I answered.

"I'm sorry to have to tell you this," She said. "Sally had been working part time the last few years because she was sick. She died five weeks ago."

Before I could hang up, she said,

"Wait a minute, did you say your name was Wayne ?" "

"Yes." I answered.

Well, Sally left a message for you. She wrote it down in case you called. "Let me read it to you."

The note said, "Tell him there are other worlds to sing in. He'll know what I mean."

I thanked her and hung up. I knew what Sally meant.

Never underestimate the impression you may make on others.

Whose life have you touched today?
 
Damn Shuey, I was just getting my eyes dried out from reading & seeing all Bob's pictures, on Dinkies post, and now that. It was a very touching story. It helps ease the loss.

Thank you!
 
Bob and I discussed several times how much we dreaded the day when we would no longer be able to ride. I mentioned that maybe something like a Can-Am would suffice. Bob answered, nope, I think I'd get a Miata, put the top down, and pretend it only had two wheels. The man definitely went out on two wheels. Great stuff from Dinkie and Shuey.

Greg
 
Thanks Dinkie.

Your heartfelt tribute helped me a lot.

I knew Bob, but not very well unfortunately. I first met him at YooperSTOC or was it NATSTOC a few years ago. When he found out I was Canadian he wanted to talk about that - me and my country. I didn't really but felt honoured by him. I was very pleased and wowed by his knowledge and intelligent questions. I had trouble bringing the conversations back around to him and his epic riding abilities.

In our few chats he made a huge impression on me and left me wanting to know him better. The way I saw Bob - He was tough as nails. He exuded a tremendous quiet confidence and calm. He was smart, thoughtful & had a wealth of experience. A very big man!

I feel a loss with his passing but it can't be anywhere near what many of you must feel. I'll carry his memory with me as happy thoughts remembering his comments & that crooked impish kinda smile and sparkling eyes he had at times. I think it showed up when he was teasing me but I wasn't exactly sure. ;-)

My deepest condolences to Bob's good buddies here, his other friends and loved ones.

RIP Mr. Donaldson
 
just saw a text that Sour Kraut had sent me, I am shocked and truly saddened for his loss, I am blessed that while I was riding before my problems sidelined me, I had the distinct pleasure to spend many hours riding with Bob and enjoying his company. My life is better for knowing Bob, and am sure if there is a life after, he will quickly become one of heaven's finest. Rest in Peace Bob, you'll be sorely misse
 
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