Today would have been Bob Harrod’s eighty-second birthday if he had lived. He vanished from the face of the earth on July 27, 2009, without a trace. He lived across the street from me for several years. He was one of my best friends and I one of his. I last spoke to him on July 19, 2009. That was the day before I left California to move to Virginia. I miss him.
I do not know a lot about Bob’s life before he moved into our neighborhood. I knew his daughter and son-in-law, Julie and Jeff, next door. When he moved in, his wife, Georgia, was still with us. She was very sick and passes away in March 2008. He and Georgia were married for fifty-four years. They had three grown children.
Bob had been so used to taking care of Georgia for several years; he placed the same care on their dog, Sassy. When Sassy became too sick and had to be put down, we took her to the animal shelter and put her to sleep. I then buried her in the back yard for Bob.
Not long after Sassy died, Bob received a call from an old sweetheart, Fontelle. It was a twist of fate that broke them up and another that brought them back together. Fontelle and Bob had been sweethearts in 1950. Bob had joined the Marines and was shipping off to Pasadena from Kansas City. He gave Fontelle a ring. He told her if it was too much to keep up a long distance relationship, he would understand. He did not hear from her for almost sixty years later.
It turned out the people Bob was staying with wanted him to marry their niece, Georgia. The uncle had never given Bob any of the letters Fontelle had written him. He thought she had given up on him. He married Georgia and had a wonderful and fulfilling life with her. Meanwhile, Fontelle had thought the same and went on with her life as well.
One day, Fontelle’s daughter was playing around on the internet and found Bob. She asked her mother if it was the same man. She did not know. Her daughter dialed the number and handed the phone to her. Bob answered. He was just as glad to hear her voice as she was his. They talked for hours. Since both were now widowed, they talked almost every day.
In May, 2009, they started making plans for Fontelle to come visit Bob in Placentia. She did. They decided to pick up where they left off and got married when she came out in June. It was an incredible story. The Orange County Register covered it in several articles. I wish I could say they lived happily ever after. But that was not to be.
Fontelle had gone back to Missouri to get her things to move out to California and live out the rest of her days with Bob. I was getting ready for my move to Virginia. On that last day we talked, Bob told me about Fontelle and his love for her.
I had never seen him so happy. He had started going back to the doctor to get himself together, again. He had neglected his health for years taking care of Georgia and then Sassy. He told me he wanted twenty good years with Fontelle before he died. He was eighty at the time.
A little over a week later on July 29, I received an email saying Bob had disappeared. His son-in-law was working on his house to get it ready for Fontelle. Bob was having things cleaned, painted, and repaired for her. She was due back on July 30. Jeff went to Home Depot and get some lunch. When he came back an hour or so later, Bob was gone. His car and his glasses were still there. The only thing he took with him was his wallet.
The Placentia Police started to investigate. They tried to brush it off as some senile, old man who wandered off. There was speculation he got cold feet just before Fontelle was supposed to arrive. There were other stories as well. I was one of his closest friends and I was never contacted by the police about him or his state of mind. The only people who talked to me were a private investigator, a reporter from the L.A. Times, and an attorney for Fontelle.
Almost a year later no one knows what happened. Sometimes I think Fontelle and I are the only ones who still care. The police have been useless. To call them the Keystone Cops would be a step up for them. His three daughters are completely shut up about the whole thing. I contacted them about putting a facebook site together for him. They never returned my messages.
I have no illusions that Bob is still alive. If he had just wandered off, someone would have found him by now. Yes, he was forgetful at times. You will be too if you make it to eighty. But his mind was still sharp. Today, on his birthday, I miss him all the more. His favorite author was Patricia Cornwell. I used to give him her latest book for his birthday. This year, I see the book on the bookstand and miss him all the more.