Birthday Geetings from Two of Rob's Nieces ~ Thanks to Mary Ellen

Matt, Sheridan, Meredith, Morgan and Allison with Goggy/Nai Nai about twelve years ago

My good friend, Mary Ellen Blizzard, with whom I went to New Haven last year for the 95th anniversary of the Yale Spizzwinks, arranged a birthday surprise for me. She asked my nieces and nephews to write personal accounts about me for my blog. Below are two unedited results

Two Tributes to Robert Fleming Rich Bell ~~~ April 16, 1949

Allison’s Poem

I remember being in your house

I was ten

with a broken arm

it was the first time I spent quality time

with my Uncle Rob

up until then you were

that voice on the phone

that man in the picture

I was with my mother who is your sister

and my Texan grandmother

You hosted three generations of women

for a week

and you such an excellent host

you were our guide

arranging a car up 101

beautiful coast lined with cliffs

that weaved in and out

the Pacific

went on for miles miles and miles

gorgeous

beautiful weather

And the Hearst Castle

enormous

gothic

rooms of European furniture

Marin county

Sausalito

Carmel

On a hill overlooking the ocean

I imagined the golden days of Hollywood

the 20's the 30's

The redwood forest

surreal

to a child

And that chilly windy salty ride on the ferry

You showed me a different way of being

you showed me the best of nature

it was a peaceful

rejuvenating

wonderful experience

Uncle Rob

you always show me the best of life

whether visiting you in San Francisco

or when traveling with you abroad

Happy Birthday!

Recollections
By Morgan Bell

Dear Uncle Rob,

Here are a few of my fondest memories of times we’ve shared.

Picking a Bouquet in the Red Wood Forest

On our way back to Beijing, my father, mother and I stopped in SF.

I must have been 12.
You, Dennis and my family went to the Red Woods. It was my first time. It would have been August and the forest was teaming with life, as were the tourists.
In China I had the luxury of being a first class foreigner, which allowed me access to the Ming Tombs with my family where we went for picnics. There were no rules or guidelines. No one to stop us from taking tiles that had fallen off the ancient structures. I mention this because I had no idea that in the US there were rules.

I picked a bouquet of beautiful wild flowers and with a bounce in my step went to give them to Mom.

You saw a park ranger at the same time as you saw me, and quickly assessing the situation and trying to avoid the fine, you grabbed them from me and said “no!” You then very kindly explained that you weren’t really mad at me, but had to pretend to be so that you would not be fined.

I recall that memory with a laugh.

I also remember that I wandered away from you and my parents and Dennis caught up with me and we talked and joked and laughed. It was the first time I really got to know Dennis.

Watching the Parade in Paris

It may have been in the summer of ’85, but I can’t remember. My mother and I met you and Dennis for Bastille Day which is on the 14th of July in Paris.

We may have been near the Champs-Élysées. I do remember sitting on steps and the big grin Dennis had on his face as we watched the incredible parade of soldiers marching through the streets. It felt as if we had gone back in time a hundred years with the costumes in bright red and bayonets. Were there sounds of Cannon Balls? Definitely fireworks.

From our view we could see the parade cross in many different directions in a complex formation, perfectly executed. It simply took our breath away.

Moving to SF

I had dreadlocks and a dog and I was looking for a way home. Home had become an elusive, abstract idea; memories of five or so different homes I had in Paris, DC, Beijing, Geneva, PA, and MA. My family was scattered between Chicago, Beijing and Zurich, and there was not enough room for me to live with them, no life that I could conceive.

So after a fight with my mother I called my father i[n] Beijing and asked him what he thought of me moving to SF and I was very surprised to hear his enthusiasm at the idea.

Buck, who had adopted me only weeks before, and I embarked on our journey.

I remember how welcomed I felt sitting at the dining room table eating asparagus al dente, risotto and chicken. Enjoying a glass of wine, though I was barely twenty.

Dennis commenting on Elizabeth’s chemistry experiments in the kitchen, i.e. “meals in Harrisburg” that had ruined your ability to distinguish between fine cuisine and what Dennis would argue was practically inedible. There was so much laughter as Dennis spoke in an irreverent way, yet at the same time revering our family. Satire made the past that I had never known come alive to me.

I felt like I belonged and that I had always belonged.

I cherish that memory.