[note from moderator: Jim Stasheff says he'll accept further anecdotes etc to pass on, or they may be sent directly to Mmaygord@aol.com ] Eric Grinberg, Bob's closest colleague at Temple, says you can distribute this.

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From Eric Grinberg:

I remember vividly a day in the early 1990s when Bob came to visit me in my office. I don't recall what led to the visit, but we were facing a somewhat outdated Zenith 386 PC and talking about computers. He did not yet have a computer of his own but was clearly getting interested. Knowing that Bob had sustained an injury to his hands, I offered that there were special input devices that he might like to use better than the Zenith keyboard on my desk, and that with these the computer might be a more effective writing tool than the pen. In the course of the conversation I learned that Bob was quite skilled in using his hands for tasks not often associated with mathematicians: operating a farm tractor, building a barn and servicing a 19th century wood stove. I soon realized that my suggestion was naively motivated and perhaps misguided: Bob was every bit as capable of using a keyboard as I was, if not more so. But he was not put-off. We started to talk about computers in general and soon arranged to meet in a local store where Bob would customize and take home a PC. He was the first in Wycombe to have a 486 machine! Starting with OS2 software and SCSI (read: SCUZZI) hardware we established an ongoing conversation about computers and ramafications which continued year after year. Though Bob was always very modest about his learning ability, knowledge and experience, in fact, he would go from zero to expert in no time. Weeks, or even days after being introduced to a PC he knew its features to fine detail. In several cases I would bring up a new topic for Bob, and soon thereafter I would be learning about it from him. While initially unintended, this worked so well that I began to think of an algorithm every time there was something new to be learned: if you want to know more about X, first get Bob interested in X and then have him teach it to you. If someone were to draw a Department of Mathematics, Temple University view of the world, in analogy with the famous New Yorker cover, then Bob's house would probably be placed somewhere in the hyperplane at infinity. I remember the first time I drove to Forest Grove road. We were going to a Department party which he hosted, and following a long directions document through twisting country roads. (This was some time before MAPQUEST.COM went online.) I was very impressed with the rustic setting, the river, bridge, old train station, field, barn, blueberry bushes, adjoining goose sanctuary, and more. I was particularly impressed to learn that Bob built the barn himself. I hear that day trippers from New York CIty are so taken by the sight that they knock on the door and ask if they can rent this colonial era farm house for the summer. Soon I learned the way to Wycombe very well. In the mid 1990s I started a series of commutes, first to central New Jersey, then to New York, and after that to Boston. For any of these destinations, Bob's house was on the way, or on the way back, sort of. On a regular basis we would get together and catch up on what we had been doing, usually in front of a computer, and often fortified with delicious treats provided by Muriel. Given the distance between meetings, both geometric and temporal, our chats would last well into the night. In winter, the computer operations were sometimes interrupted by service calls to the wood stove on the other side of the room. The stove was just another peripheral device. Driving afterwards challenged my abilities to stay awake and negotiate dark winding country roads. Sometimes the roles would be reversed and Bob would visit me. There was one important difference: when in my place we had to order out at the Imperial Gourmet (one of my favorite local places which became Bob's favorite too). We were two of a diminishing breed of users of the OS2 operating system. (For better or for worse, your last airline ticket and bank statement may have both been produced by OS2.) By coincidence, the Greater Philadelphia OS2 User Society had its meetings just down the street from my house, and this gave us another occasion to get together. Bob told me that he rediscovered art through computers. A quick stroll through the Gordons' house shows that artists live there. Though he always had an interest in art, this interest was renewed with vigor after he got an internet connection. We would often gaze at the beautiful monitor which he had chosen with care and we would review the latest electronic reproduction of an art treasure. He was always generous in sharing results of hours of laborious investigations when he searched and compared online art, finding the best available presentations of notable works. Bob was an accomplished musician. In his teens he was on the composer track, though he later opted for a career in mathematics. But he maintained his interest in music and had a substantial collection of vinyl records. With the advent of the information age in Wycombe, Bob set up his computer to handle music at a high level of fidelity. As with art, he meticulously compared performances available on electronic media, especially piano pieces, until he isolated the best ones, and then generously offered the results of his investigations freely. The simultaneous appreciation of art and music on Bob's workstation was truly dramatic and is worthy of reproduction. In pursuing his newly cultivated computer interests, Bob tested the limits of enduser technology. For instance, in order to play classical music on the computer at a high level of quality, he acquired one of the latest, largest, fastest scsi(read: SCUZZI) disk drives. Installing the device presented some difficulties which required contacting the manufacturer. The head engineer decided to modify the design of the main data cable after learning of Bob's observations. In the same vein, Bob began to use a graphics tablet which he found preferable to a mouse, and his experience with setting up the device influenced the main software developers for this device. I visited Bob one day after he had been hospitalized. Though confined to an intensive care unit, he was sharp, alert, and in good spirits. He gave me an update on his situation, displaying a keen awareness of the medical issues involved. He had consulted with experts, gathered a database (purely mental in this case) of facts, figures and options relevant to his case, and made comparisons when possible. Clearly, he had caught up with his doctors and knew all that medicine could offer him with certainty, and all that was still not yet understood by the profession. One aspect of doctor-patient relations was of paramount importance to Bob: honesty. He made it clear to his physicians that he expected full disclosure. Good news or bad, he wanted to know thefacts. When his diagnosis was ambiguous he sought the advice of a childhood friend, now a world class medical authority. Bob's follow-up discussion with his local doctors gave them some new insights. Talking with him, I was reminded of how he learned everything about computers so quickly. This was the same Bob. He hadn't changed a bit. Robert, as his family calls him, was a well known and highly respected mathematician. Recently I returned from a visit to a Belgian University. There I met a student who just defended his thesis in category theory. I mentioned to him that Temple University has a category theorist on the faculty. "Bob Gordon, of course", replied the student, "he is doing very important work with Ross Street and also with John Power". Given the speed and skill with which he gained expertise in computers, I regret not learning from him more about his mathematics. Bob was a friend, a buddy and a colleague. He was warm, generous, and bright. He had a passion for exploring and learning new ideas, and he was always eager to share insights that he so quickly grasped. I always looked forward to our meetings and conversations, where we caught up on thoughts, ideas and experiences. His untimely departure creates a great void. I will miss him terribly.