Many have shared their personal reflections on the impact Robert W. Duffy had on their lives, and I find myself no different. Bobby, as most of his friends called him, was an accomplished journalist and a graceful writer who took me under his wing when I transitioned from news to the features section at the Post-Dispatch in the late-1980s. He died earlier this month at 79, following complications from cancer.
Though Bobby wasn’t Jewish, he was married to Marty Kaplan, who is. Together, they were an integral part of the wonderful Jewish holiday dinners hosted by the late Helen Weiss (z”l), which often had more than 30 guests. Bobby had a deep knowledge of Judaism and its traditions and, during Passover, he would passionately belt out a lively rendition of “Dayenu.”
Two memories of Bobby stand out in particular. The first comes shortly after I joined the features section. As my boss at the time, Bobby noticed that something was weighing heavily on me. He made sure I got the mental health support I needed and, without hesitation, gave me the time I required to heal, no questions asked.
The second memory was from my 40th birthday party, which took place at a friend’s house. My parents flew in from New York for the occasion. Unbeknownst to me, Bobby had written a remarkable poem about me — capturing both my strengths and, of course, my quirks — in perfect rhyming verse. Overcome with emotion at the sentiment, my mother asked for a copy, which she later had laminated. Like so many others, she was enchanted by Bobby’s kindness and thoughtfulness.
Rest in peace, my friend. If you’d like to learn more about Bobby, I highly recommend reading the obituary written by another friend and former Post colleague, Paul Wagman.
