Letter From Paul
Robert Peter’s long illustrious life is to difficult for me to parsed into sound bites. One can find who he is & was and what he has accomplished by finding him on the Wikipedia. I’ll say this that it is very uncommon to rise from the Northern woods of Wisconsin living in a ramshackle two story shack that his dad built and being schooled in a one room school and becoming a well known Victorian scholar and a poet of over forty volumes of poetry.
I met him when I was twenty-two and he was twenty-four years my senior. We have shacked up together for over thirty fives living the lives of troubadours. We have done a lot of cross country touring of Bob doing his poetic monologues fully costumed and replete with sets of his eccentric characters such as Mad King Ludwig of Bavaria, The Hungarian Blood Countess, The Cornish Vicar Robert Stephen Hawker, John Edgar Hoover and others while I did the directing and other technical aspects.
I’m now sixty and Bob is now eighty-four. He now has the creakiness of age topped with a very faulty short-term memory deficit. His vulnerability of his age makes him more of a sweetheart. He still gets off being a kinky professor and loves making small talk with strangers. His concentration on life is enhanced by doing his crossword puzzles and Scrabble. I can be over protective with him always hoping other Scrabble players will exercise patience when playing him. He can give people a very good game if they are willing to overlook his humming and know how to enunciate their scores to him to accommodate his horrible hearing loss. Most of his opponents have been worthwhile gems with him. He so oblivious if others are shunning him.
Our favorite pastime is our day trips to the local Indian casinos. We are in love with ambiences of Indian reservations.