Robb, publisher of the Post Register from 1977 to 1988, died Sunday at age 92. No one would say he went before his time. His rest is won, but he will be missed.
Any one of us can be good, but Robb simply was good -- although his humility would prevent him from acknowledging a statement such as this.
I came to work for the Post Register in 1981 as the paper's central Idaho staff writer based in Challis. Robb, a leading voice on environmental issues in Idaho, was concerned about the Thompson Creek molybdenum mine that was being dug between Clayton and Stanley, near his beloved White Clouds. He wanted a reporter there to keep tabs on whether the company was keeping its commitments. Robb didn't just put his money where his mouth was. He put it where his heart was.
Two years ago, while I was still working for the Post Register, I was asked to write a story about him turning 90. He didn't see the point of it, and the assignment eventually lost its shelf life. We had set up an appointment, but he had other things to do: tennis, inline skating, meeting with old friends. Most importantly, he was taking care of his wife, Rose, who was ailing.
Rose died in January this year, and frankly I didn't see Robb holding on for too long after that. They had been married 69 years. While I mourn his passing, I rejoice to think he is reunited with her -- and probably fixing a White Russian for her as I write this.
I can't imagine Robb resting in peace. He was much too active a person for that. So let's imagine the Kingdom of Heaven as he reflected it -- green hills, sunshine at Grand Targhee, good company and unlimited kindness -- and conduct ourselves in a manner worthy of his memory until we rejoin him in the fullness of time.
