Robert Jacks

Recently found by Beth Kerr:

RobbieJacks@aol.com wrote:
> 
> Maybe you've done this before, but it's always fun to do it again,
> don't you agree?
> Okay, here's what you're supposed to do. Copy (not forward) this
> entire e-mail and paste it onto a new e-mail that you will send. 
> Change all of the answers so
> that they apply to you. Then, send this to a whole bunch of
> people you know, INCLUDING the person who sent it to you. The theory
> is that you will learn a lot of little-known facts about your friends. 
> Remember to send it back to the person who sent it to you.
> 
> *WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING NOW?
> "Marcel Proust: A Life" (Jean-Yves Tadie), "Star Trek: Action" (Terry
> J. Erdmann)
> *WHAT'S ON YOUR MOUSE PAD?
> My finger.
> * WHAT'S YOUR FAVORITE BOARD GAME?
> Trivial Persuit
> * FAVORITE MAGAZINE?
> Martha Stewart Living
> * FAVORITE SMELLS?
> rolls baking in high school cafeteria mixed with Charlie! perfume,
> stop bath,
> developer and sweat.
> *FAVORITE SOUND(s)?
> certain voices, certain theme songs
> * WORST FEELING IN THE WORLD?
> That it is over.
> * WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU THINK OF WHEN YOU WAKE UP IN THE
> MORNING?
> who is that?
> *ROLLER COASTER--SCARY OR EXCITING?
> Thrilling. If you go, what a way to go.
> * HOW MANY RINGS BEFORE YOU ANSWER THE PHONE?
> Don't think about it- whenever.
> * FAVORITE FOODS?
> Vietnamese, French, BLT's and cake
> * CHOCOLATE OR VANILLA
> Vanilla
> * DO YOU LIKE TO DRIVE FAST?
> I do not pay attention to these details
> * DO YOU SLEEP WITH A STUFFED ANIMAL?
> yes- a five foot mackrel pillow and my cats Britainicus, Claudius,
> Olive, Nancy Spungeon and Panky
> * STORMS--COOL OR SCARY?
> Cool
> * WHAT TYPE WAS YOUR FIRST CAR?
> It was a 1977 maroon with white vinyl top something or other. I can't
> remember. Huge.
> * IF YOU COULD MEET ONE PERSON, DEAD OR ALIVE, WHO WOULD IT BE?
> Eleanor of Aquitaine, Susan Hayward
> * FAVORITE DRINK?
> Coca-cola can or cold water
> *WHAT IS YOUR ZODIAC SIGN?
> Leo
> * DO YOU EAT THE STEMS OF BROCCOLI?
> No
> * IF YOU COULD HAVE ANY JOB YOU WANTED, WHAT WOULD IT BE?
> President. That'd do it.
> * IF YOU COULD DYE YOUR HAIR ANY COLOR?
> Black
> * EVER BEEN IN LOVE?
> Uh-huh
> * WAS HE/SHE THE ONE?
> yes for all 7
> * IS THE GLASS HALF EMPTY OR HALF FULL?
> till water starts growing up the sides of the glass, it is half empty
> * FAVORITE MOVIES?
> All About Eve, Lion in Winter, Mi Vie en Rose
> *ARE YOUR FINGERS ON THE RIGHT KEYS?
> No.
> * WHAT'S UNDER YOUR BED?
> Mop and Glo
> * WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE NUMBER?
> 9
> * FAVORITE SPORT TO WATCH?
> I guess that diving board thing
> * SAY ONE NICE THING ABOUT THE PERSON WHO SENT THIS TO YOU:
> Lorne- you can never have too many shoes, bags and hats.
> *MOST LIKELY TO RESPOND?
> Jo Carol and Nancy
> *PERSON YOU SENT THIS TO WHO IS LEAST LIKELY TO RESPOND?
> all them other bitches (not that anyone HAS to.)

For My Friend Rob

I had stopped thinking so much about death. Last summer, going to sleep each night was a gamble. Would I awaken suddenly from a dreamless void, heart pounding fiercely, shaking so that I could barely walk, my face constricted as if my jaw was wired shut? Convinced I was dying I would call 911, or my kind neighbors.

Panic attacks I had had, but this was different. I imagined being found after a week, my newly adopted pit bulldog having been forced to drink from the toilet and then, to sup on me.

But as last fall moved into Texas, the expectation of dying receded like a mat of tormenting seaweed, finally pushed on down the beach by the kind and inevitable tide.

So, as I began to say, I had stopped thinking so much about death. But then I received a phone call, and the dark mass washed back my way, reaching out with snakey tendrils to say "It is I: it is Death."

My friend Gayle Miller called to tell me that Rob Jacks had died – suddenly, unexpectedly; a heart attack they said at first. He had gone to the hospital and they could not help him. So much for my own midnight calls to 911; they can come get you, take you to the place where people are repaired, and you can yet expire in the innermost bowels of the sacred medical temple.

Strangely, I do not fear to reveal the meager development of my soul – at first I blamed Rob. I felt betrayed that Rob had gone and died without our speaking for the last few years. Putting it all on his plate, that he had not called me. It says in the Book, that "whatsoever you would that men would do to you, do ye even so to them." There it is – I would that he had called me – I therefore would have done well to make the call myself. Now the opportunity is gone for both of us.

But there are memories, stories, close calls – and the experience of Rob as a social genius. Coming home to our apartment in the summer of '83 to find that Rob's party decorations included a swimming pool full of beauty school styrofoam heads, all decked out in wigs and makeup, bobbing around like an umbrella substitute in a giant blue rum drink. Spending a day after an X show hanging around with Rob, Exene, John Doe and friends. Rob doing Halloween as a six-foot-three Jackie O in her JFK assassination outfit. Talking, doing, living ... and writing songs, which I never actually caught him doing, but write he surely did.

I met Rob through my friend Anne Groeschel when they were both working at the Dobie Screens. I would go in there, hang out while they took tickets, and drink beer (surreptitious beer drinking by me only). The film “The Big Red One” was playing, and I was delighted at this guy, Rob, who would in an exasperated manner correct members of the public who pronounced “The Big Red One” as if it were a porno flick. “It’s ‘The Big, Red, One’” Rob would say, with a careful equal emphasis on each word, “not ‘The Big, RED One!’”

There's going to be a big hole in Austin, something missing, something elemental, like when you lose a tooth and that raw naked area is there like a vacant lot between warm peopled houses. Your tongue sends repeated signals, "It's gone, it's gone" – but that doesn't bring it back, it only telegraphs the loss.

*-*-*-*-*

-- I would like to add a postscript here. On the morning of Rob’s death, when I had no conscious idea of what was happening with him, the following 3 things occurred:

1) I had a thought: “isn’t it Rob’s, Steve’s, Sandy’s August B-days coming up?”

2) I had a sudden intense desire to whack my hair off, bleach it and dye the underside blue-black (the way I had it for a time when Rob & I were roommates).

3) I developed a “pain” in the left side of my abdomen, under the ribcage. Not a pain which ached, but more accurately an awareness. The awareness stayed there all day. And the next day, I found the reason why.

In fact, as I later learned, these thoughts and feelings erupted at the very time of Rob’s death. I am convinced that Rob was sending me a message the best way he could. For other people who may have had similar experiences, I suggest that such occurrences are certainly beyond mere chance.

--Shelley Fleming

notmodern@yahoo.com

"robbi passed away Wednesday morning of what we now know to be Martin's disease, a genetic disorder ... he was afraid that he may be having a heart attack and checked himself into brackenridge hospital tuesday afternoon ... he was uncomfortable but resting and seemed to be on the way to recovery ... but at about 8:30 a.m. that day, his aorta, which had deteriorated, suddenly burst ... his poor heart, so big in life, stopped beating ..."

with every word, my heart sank more. though the message was clear, i continued to deny that "robbi" (the only name i knew him by) couldn't possibly be the "rob" referred to in this message. after all, i'd just recently received an email from my cyberpal, robbi, in which he wished me a "HAPPY FUCKING BIRTHDAY" and said he was "glad i was born". i prayed that "rob" wasn't "robbi". the note confused and concerned me. i wanted clarification, so i wrote to a couple of robbi's dear friends and waited nervously for a response.

during that time, i listened to "der einziger weg" and re-read some of the correspondence between me and robbi.

no new emails came, so i went online to find an answer for myself. i held my breath as i scrolled the obits in an austin newspaper ... and then i saw it ... "robert neal jacks". the obit robbi died a day before his 42nd birthday. i didn't read read any further, and i didn't check my emails any more that day.

i never met robbi in person. i never even talked to him on the phone. we just emailed. because of that, some may insist then that we were strangers, but i knew we were friends. and if i wasn't sure of it then, i knew that morning when it hit me that he was gone. i was a little surprised by my reaction about the death of a person i only connected with through my modem -- surprised by the tears i cried at the thought of never getting another email from him, or the chance to meet him, or to thank him for the inspiration he gave me.

i was just a girl from the cornfields of the midwest who robbi barely knew, but he often treated me like i was one of the celebrities he befriended over the years. i confided in robbi when my world was dark; and he responded with words that made it brighter. he never failed to make me laugh, or think, or get up off my ass.

one thing i'll always remembers: whenever robbi knew i was going to a blondie show, he asked me to give debbie a "yellow rose from texas" from him. i wish i thought to do that while he was on earth, but robbi can rest assured that next time i see debbie harry, i'll have a rose in my hand with his name on it.

goodbye leatherface, and thank you for touching my life with your creative gifts and undying spirit.

Robert Jacks - Tributes and Stories