A granddaughter’s tribute to a life well-lived

By Olivia Vargas

For 13 years, Robert Roy wrote the “Lighten Up” column for The Messenger, bringing humor and levity to its pages each month. Sadly, Robert passed away unexpectedly in December.

I am Robert’s eldest grandchild, Olivia (aka Ollie), and I am writing one final column for The Messenger on his behalf. 

My grandpa took great joy in writing his column every month and loved sharing his stories with others. I grew used to receiving paper copies of the latest issue in the mail or when I went to visit my grandparents in person. 

Grandpa was born in Wisconsin and came to the Pacific Northwest as a young boy. He grew up in Lyons, Oregon, on the banks of the Santiam River. He loved to tell me stories of his one-room schoolhouse and of playing outside with friends. These stories were so different from my childhood as a “city kid” and self-proclaimed “indoorsy” child. 

His wicked sense of humor, one that no doubt developed early in his boyhood, generated numerous stories that he told me repeatedly as I grew up. When a neighborhood bully fell and scraped his knee, Robert confidently told him salt was the best remedy and watched on as the boy poured salt into his open wound. As a child, I listened to this with wonderment and wide eyes. As an adult, and now physician, I still chuckle to myself when I think about this suggestion, knowing I would never recommend the same “treatment” to my patients but still cherishing the spirit and confidence of that young Robert Roy. 

His early days playing on the river set in motion a lifelong fascination with fishing and being on the water. In the summers, I loved playing on the banks of the East Fork of the Lewis River in my grandparents’ backyard. Robert was a prolific rock skipper and we spent many hours picking the perfect skipping rocks. I certainly never inherited his skill at rock-skipping, but the hours we spent on the banks of the river are some of the best memories I have from childhood. I still have a few rocks we picked together — carefully labeled with the date and location in my childhood handwriting. 

Grandpa would also take me out in his beloved drift boat to teach me to fly fish. As a lifelong vegetarian, I didn’t have this high on my list of things to master. In fact, despite his best efforts, I never came close to mastering fly-fishing. In all the times we went fishing together, the only thing I managed to hook was my own hat. When I finally did feel a bite on my fishing line, in panic, I threw the entire fishing pole into the lake. 

Grandpa just shook his head, laughed and announced we were done for the day as he waded out to retrieve my pole. I was never invited to fish after that day, which was probably for the best considering the average cost of a fly rod. 

Despite my aversion (and lack of talent) to fishing, I look back on these days fondly and remember my grandpa as a kind and incredibly patient teacher who just loved spending time with me.

Beyond his love of the outdoors, Robert was a prolific athlete, particularly in track and field. He threw discus and shotput at Willamette University in Salem, Oregon, and still holds the school record for discus from 1961. Both my mom and aunt threw discus and spent countless hours in the plowed alfalfa field near their childhood home practicing under Robert’s tutelage. My mom still has the discus she received on her eighth birthday. 

While shockingly (and perhaps mercifully) my mom did not gift me a discus on my eighth birthday, I still ended up following the family tradition and joined my high school’s track and field team to throw discus. Grandpa drove up to Seattle to see my meets and cheer me on. There was always a twinkle in his eye as he watched me throw, and he beamed with pride even though my distances did not threaten any longstanding university records.

One thing I can say I inherited from my grandpa was his sweet tooth. His apple pies were famous among our family and friends, and HAD to be served with vanilla ice cream. He also had a weak spot for doughnuts, particularly apple fritters. Having a grandchild in town was the perfect excuse for a visit to the local doughnut shop. I remember driving there with him and knowing that I could predict what he would order. 

I also inherited his love of a good afternoon nap, although I have yet to master being able to fall asleep with the remote control to the TV firmly in hand. I spent many afternoons with him having to watch golf or a bass fishing competition because the remote was securely in his hand and I didn’t dare wake him up to retrieve it. 

Most of all, we shared a love of writing and sharing stories. Robert was an early riser and had a steadfast routine. First, he cleaned the kitchen (even if it was already clean), then it was time to sit at his computer and work on his writings. 

Never one to be left out, I often joined him for these writing sessions while growing up. I always loved finishing a story and giving it to him to read. As he read, a smile would appear and grow bigger as he got to the end. He encouraged me to keep writing always and to use the world around me as inspiration for my stories. 

While I don’t have much time to write anymore, I am ever observant of my surroundings and think of all the wonderful stories they could generate. I hope one day to have the time to take these ideas and put them on paper. I know Grandpa will be watching with a smile on his face. The power of writing and the joy of storytelling is something that will connect us forever. It is his greatest lesson and my most cherished inheritance.

To the readers of “Lighten Up”: Thank you for giving my grandfather an audience for his stories these past 13 years. He wrote to bring you joy, and in doing so, he found great joy himself. I hope these memories give you a glimpse of the man behind the column: a teacher, an athlete, a prankster and above all, a storyteller who never lost his love for life.

Robert leaves behind the love of his life, Christine, his wife of over 35 years; their golden retriever, Pride; his three children; three stepchildren; eight grandchildren; and a collection of grandpets who will miss his laugh, gentle presence and never-ending sense of wonder. 

Olivia “Ollie” Vargas, MD, MPH, is a granddaughter of the late Robert Roy. She lives in Seattle.

Editor’s note: Robert Roy of Vancouver began writing his monthly column for The Messenger in 2013 and soon became a popular and well-loved contributor. We will greatly miss him.