Last Thoughts

Posted on November 15, 2025 by rhilligoss

The Last Picture, November 2023, Godfrey, Il

By Ryan Hilligoss. November 13, 2025

It’s been two years to the day. But does it matter if we remember the actual dates those we love who have passed on? Maybe, maybe not. To each their own and whatever helps you cope with the grief as you go through the process. I think of my dad everyday, usually several times a day. Sometimes for no reason and sometimes because a memory comes to me or a conversation we had or a trip we took. Sometimes I hear his voice in my head and sometimes I slip into my Bob impression which is fairly easy to do because he was so distinctive in the sound of his voice, his mannerisms, his personality, or his Bobisms some of us know by heart. Perhaps it doesn’t matter that we remember a date, maybe it just helps us mark the miles as time rolls down the highway.

We truly never know when it’s our time. A friend once told me of her parents driving in a car, her mom driving and father riding in the passenger seat. He was talking about a trip they were planning and was talking quickly and excitedly. She turned a corner, the talking had stopped in mid sentence, the mom looked over and her husband had simply, quickly passed away from a major heart attack as they talked. The silence was deafening. In my dad’s case, he passed away late at night, early morning on a quiet November night, two months shy of his 82nd birthday. For his age, or most ages for that matter, Bob Hilligoss was a very active man, dancing every weekend, visiting friends, his “dancing partner”, and family everyday, and generally, enjoying the hell out of life.

During his last weekend he lived it up to the fullest with dancing at the Alton VFW on Friday night and the Grafton Winery on Saturday afternoon. He and I talked Sunday morning about his weekly adventures. He visited Donna Sunday afternoon and gave her a kiss on his way out the door which he rarely did in public. His life long friend Tim from Humboldt was in town and they hung out and watched a football game. Tim was headed to Charleston that night but told dad he’d be back Monday afternoon. “I’ll be here,” Dad said as they waved at each other. Little did he know. Next door neighbor Jackson came over about 8:00pm to say their usual heys and goodnights to each other. By all accounts he had a great weekend, was full of life and enjoyed everyone’s company. He went to bed around 9:00pm as usual but woke up around 1:00am not feeling well. He had been complaining of heartburn for a few weeks and propped himself up on his bed pillows at night. He made his way down to the couch and called our neighbor Scott to say something wasn’t right and needed help. Scott called 911 and they arrived within minutes. They worked on him for close to 30 minutes but there was nothing they could do. He’d suffered a heart attack, maybe even a ruptured artery. He was fully cognizant as they worked on him and followed their orders to move this way and that as they moved him from the couch to the floor. Scott was there in the room as the paramedics tried their best, Scott and dad maintained eye contact. He was fully aware of what was happening. His last words to Scott were, “I don’t think I am going to make it.”

Whether you believe in the concept of energy and the spirit or not, some odd things happened that evening around that time. Scott told me their dogs were uncharacteristically howling at something outside that evening. When Scott went to investigate he stepped outside and heard a barn owl hooting in the woods behind our house. My dad was fascinated with and a lifelong student of Native Americans and in some native cultures, the owl carries a heavy weight of spiritualism and an omen of death. In Indiana, my cousin, dad’s niece, woke up from sleep sensing something was wrong somewhere, somehow. On the other side of a town, a young teenage girl who had spent a lot of time with dad woke up from her sleep with the same feeling. Meanwhile 300 miles away, I lay tossing and turning sleeping fitfully when I heard my phone buzz on vibrate. It was Donna, “Dad’s gone baby.” Three simple words. Dad’s gone.

I am two years into my grief process. I’ve gone through most of the stages at least once, some of them several times, in no specific order. The grief never goes away. It changes and ebbs and flows like a river, but it never goes away. The further along we go, it comes at odd, random moments. Recently when actor and activist Robert Redford passed away, my first knee jerk reaction was to call my mom and dad to tell them and talk to them since they both loved him and his movies. It took a moment for me to realize, oh yeah, I can’t.

As much as it’s pained and drained me emotionally, mentally, and psychologically, I’ve gotten through it with the help of family, friends, my brother and aunts and uncles. But one thought has haunted me constantly: what was he thinking about in those last minutes? Other than being aware of what was happening, the medics working on him, and seeing Scott in the room, what was going through his mind? Was he in pain? Was he worried about his dog, was he worried about me and Kevin and what would happen to us? Was he thinking of our mom, Sean or his parents, was his life flashing before his eyes, moment after moment flying by at lightning speed? The fact I wasn’t there at that moment after having spent all my life being near him will haunt me for the rest of my life. I was just there with Graham the weekend prior as we had a great weekend at a dance and golfing with the family. I know it’s not reasonable and I shouldn’t, but I will. I wasn’t there to help in any way I could or to say goodbye one last time.

While I will be thinking of his last thoughts for the rest of my life, I do know that our dad lived a long, good, and decent life filled with love of all the countless people he had run across in his time. His family and friends from Humboldt, Mattoon and Charleston, his students and athletes in Divernon and Rochester, his large extended family of cousins, aunts and uncles, his former employees at the restaurant and all the other jobs he had. He never stopped working from the time he could walk until the day he left. Work was how he proved himself as a person and gave him a purpose. And when he went, we were all there in spirit, standing around him, sharing the love we carried for each other.

Maybe it’s not important to know what he was thinking. It is simply enough to know that he lived. We lived to bear witness to the person who was Robert Lee Hilligoss. And that is good enough.

For Graham and Rory

Two things I have been telling myself, and anyone else who will listen, for 10 years now after our brother Sean passed away: get your affairs in order and to not carry grudges as best as possible because you never know when it will be your last time seeing or talking to someone. So here is me taking care of some of my business. So my kids don’t have to wonder what I am thinking when it’s my time hopefully a couple, several decades, from now.

It was 2002. I was 28 years old. You two were a few years off in the horizon. I was sent to southern California for work training. I was in Thousand Oaks for 3 weeks. On a Sunday morning, I left Thousand Oaks for a day trip down to the ocean. A state highway led down the mountains into Malibu, dropping me at The Pacific Coast highway near Pepperdine University. I turned south on the PCH headed towards Venice and Santa Monica. It was a beautiful September California morning, 75 degrees, nothing but blue skies and sunshine. I wanted to get close to the ocean. I spotted a sign for a state park. I parked and walked up a small incline on a path with flowers and bushes on either side of me. As I crested the rise, the vegetation fell away and I stepped into Eden. There was the Pacific, blue as blue could be, stretching out as far as I could see. I was at a small park on a cliff, the beach 30 feet below. There was a small wooden bench facing the water. I had the place to myself. On a quiet Sunday morning in southern California, I had a magical moment all to myself with nothing but the water, sunshine and birds flying nearby. I sat on the bench and took in all the beauty I could take. In life, some of our deepest, most profound moments are small happy accidents that befall us if we are open to the experience.

When it’s time, that’s where I’ll be. Sitting on a bench on a sunny quiet morning, looking at the vastness of the ocean, thinking of time, feeling grateful for all life has given me. But this time, you’ll be with me sitting on either side enjoying the view and the sunshine on our faces, and the warmth of the sun on our shoulders. Everyone else will be there too, standing behind us their hands touching ours. Maybe I’ll tell a stupid dad joke. Maybe Woody will pop out of the bushes chasing a rabbit. Maybe we’ll see some surfers out on the water catching a perfect wave. Maybe. Just maybe……. You two are the best things I’ve ever done in life. And that’s pretty damned good. I’ll see you in my dreams.

Jim Harrison, Hard Times, In Search of Small Gods

” The other boot doesn’t drop from heaven.

I’ve made this path and nobody else

leading crookedly up through the pasture

where I’ll never reach the top of Antelope Butte.

It is where my mind begins to learn

my heart’s language on this endless

wobbly path, veering south and north

informed by my all too vivid dreams

which are a compass without a needle.

Today the gods speak in drunk talk

pulling at a heart too old for this walk,

a cold windy day kneeling at the mouth

of the snake den where they killed 800 rattlers.

Moving higher my thumping heart recites the names

of a dozen friends who have died in recent years,

names now incomprehensible as the mountains

across the river far behind me.

I’ll always be walking up Antelope Butte.

Perhaps when we die our names are taken

from us by a divine magnet and are free

to flutter here and there within the bodies

of birds. I’ll be a simple crow

who can reach the top of Antelope Butte.”

On The Road With Graham

Posted on June 3, 2025 by rhilligoss

Ryan Hilligoss, June 2, 2025

“Not all that is to be learned can be taught in the classroom, and so we take to the open road.” Douglas Brinkley, The Magic Bus

Straight out of central casting for The Newhart Show, Larry and his brother Darryl and his other brother Darryl walking the mean streets of Old Town Albuquerque

Have you ever stopped to consider how many miles you have driven, ridden in a car or trains, flown in an airplane, or walked? I’ve done some rough calculations based on the vehicles I have owned or used for work: I’m close to three million miles driven and another two million riding, flying and walking. Now I am considering all the possible things I could have done with that time: earned a medical degree, learned seven languages proficiently, read most of the Western Civilization canon, learned stand up comedy and maybe written the novel that’s been bouncing around in my head for the last 10 years. I came by it honestly, having ridden with my mom and dad countless times, short and long distances starting with the ride home from Springfield Hospital to my first home near Lake Springfield back in 1974. Our family moved to downstate Alton, Il in the summer of 1977. Mom drove us back and forth to Springfield to see our grandparents and aunt countless times, 90 miles each way back and forth. Dad’s family moved to Phoenix in 1970 and we drove the 3,000 mile roundtrip several times when I was younger. The town names mentioned in Route 66 popularized by Nat King Cole and Chuck Berry are etched in my mind with memories of dusty trips long ago: Joplin, Mo, Oklahoma City, Amarillo, Gallup, New Mexico and Flagstaff Arizona.

So it’s not shocking that I have done the same with my kids Graham and Rory during their lives. Living in northern Illinois and having family down state has led to countless trips over 20 years with the kids in tow, strapped in their car seats playing with toys, watching countless movies on 12 inch portable DVD players, sleeping and watching the corn fields roll by with fruit puffs and Cheerios under their feet. The miles and years have rolled by and now my kids are 20 and 19 years old, both on their way to becoming the adults they will be, hopefully taking the good things they’ve learned and experienced and leaving the bad behind where they belong.

It was kismet recently when Graham called me to ask if I wanted to go to Amherst, Mass to see one of his favorite bands, Have A Nice Life, play a show in the small college club they first played 25 years ago when they got started. Well……three things:

The date of the show was the day after a golf fundraiser event I had signed up to attend in New Jersey for a friend of mine. Four golfers were needed for the scramble and I’ll be damned, I still needed a fourth. Who better than Graham who is a much better golfer than I’ll ever be. Two fathers playing with two sons in honor of another son and father.
After having taken Graham and Rory to see many concerts over the years including Ringo Starr, Beatles tribute artists, Jimmy Buffet and Bruce Springsteen, this was the first time he had asked me to take him to see a band he liked.
After having travelled many times to see bands I love, who was I to say no to such a request.

An agreement was quickly determined. If he would play golf with us on Wednesday somewhere in the swamps of Jersey, I would get him to Amherst for the show on Thursday. Airline tickets were secured, concert tickets were in hand ($30 a piece, what a bargain!!!!), accommodations were arranged with friends, a small gathering was planned with local friends for one evening and interesting stops were plotted out along the way. As the date drew close, Graham closely watched the havoc occurring everyday at our flight destination, Newark International Airport. The radar and communications system went down and back up frequently, communications with planes were lost for 90 seconds at a time, and near misses between planes on the runways. Phone calls were made and a decision was made: ixnay on the airways and let’s take to the open road. Instead of flying to New Jersey, renting a car and driving up to Massachusetts and back to Newark, we would drive from Illinois through Indiana, Ohio, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, New York, Connecticut and Massachusetts and back again. 850 miles from Illinois to northern Jersey, 200 miles to Amherst and 1,000 miles back around with a stop in Cleveland, Ohio.

Things we learned along the way:

-Never eat a Denny’s attached to a Flying J outside of Dayton, Ohio under any circumstances, and according to Graham, never eat at Denny’s…period….no matter where you are

-Driving hundreds of miles in the rain is stressful and not enjoyable. Driving through rain for 5 straight days is unbearable even for an experienced driver

Driving in New Jersey is an experience for first timers. Is this one giant lane or two lanes and where should I be driving?
New Jersey is the only state in the Union where you do not pump your own gas.
Wawa is a weird name for a convenience store chain but has the best soft pretzels in the world
Graham is not a fan of the processed ham product known as Taylor Ham/pork roll depending on where you are from…too salty…and he doesn’t don’t care if Mick Jagger has a sandwich named after him featuring ham, egg and cheese on a Kaiser roll
There is no statue of Lebron James in downtown Cleveland despite what google says…I repeat…no statue of Lebron James…yet

Downtown Cleveland is beautiful at night despite the swarm of insects called midges along the lake and the perimeter of The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame
If you want decent Mexican food, do not go to a neo Mexican restaurant and order shrimp and grits.

Leaving north Jersey on the Garden State Parkway, it’s one large metro area, one town after another passing by, skirting New York to the east. It’s mid morning on a Thursday so traffic is bearable as we crossed the Hudson on the Tappanzee bridge, passing an exit for Sleepy Hollow and Tarrytown just north of the city with Manhattan way off in the southern horizon. We drive through parts of Connecticut, see the skyline of Hartford and into western Massachusetts with it’s thick vegetation and leafy neighborhoods. We check into the hotel for the night, have dinner at Chipotle and head into Amherst which is a nice, quiet college town with three bookstores within 2 blocks of each other, churches, a town square and students walking in the cold rain.

The venue is a small club near campus. We drive by looking for parking and see 50 people lined up anxiously waiting to get in. I tell Graham if we crank up the band’s Earth Mover song and slowly drive by, it will give some good mojo and they might play it for the first time in years. He gives me the skunk eye and says, “Don’t you dare.” Have A Nice Life has released a handful of albums, had a nice career and plays to 5,000-10,000 fans at shows and festivals. Tonight is very different. Two friends met in college, started a band, wrote songs and recorded an album and started a 25 year career. Tonight they are back home where it all started, in a small, dark club with capacity for 250 fans. We park and walk a few blocks in the rain. The bouncer at the door gives me an over 21 yellow wrist band without even looking at my ID…..hey!!!! There’s a chance I’m not of age. No wrist band for Graham, two months shy of his 21st birthday. The club has a low ceiling, dark lighting, couches ring the entry area and outer wall near the bar. I’m not the oldest person in the place but close to it.

Up front a small stage holds the equipment, maybe a 10×20 stage with a large screen behind the drum kit. Crippling Alcoholism, the opening band comes out, a singer, bass, guitar and drums. About 50 fans crowd the front edge of the stage. I put my ear plugs in and can’t understand a word being sung. An abstract, Ralph Steadman like drawing is on the screen while the singer screams in agony. Agony of what I don’t know but he’s in pain, whether physical or emotional, and so am I. The opener is thankfully done after 6 songs and Graham takes his merch out to our car with one last request, “Let me know when they are coming on.” The opening act gets their gear off stage quickly and HANL members get theirs on just as fast. This is a special show on their home turf before heading to Europe for a run of festival shows. The band wastes no time in getting ready: drums, bass, two guitars, keyboard and percussionist assemble with another person running the visuals on the screen. The band assembles quickly and I call Graham telling him to move his ass. The club is at capacity but there is plenty of room so I drift to the back to give the real fans space up front which gives me the opportunity to listen and watch from a safe distance.

As a child and young man, I was very fortunate to have parents and older brothers who loved music and took me to see many concerts big and small. They opened my eyes and ears to all kinds of music, some I liked immediately, while some took me a while to appreciate: Neil Diamond, ZZ Top, Springsteen, Barry Manilow, Kenny Rogers, Dolly Parton, Wayne Newton, yes, that Wayne Newton, thanks to my aunt Glenda. From there I ran with it and developed my own tastes in music that have grown into jazz, country, Americana, southern rock, R&B, old school rock and roll, gospel and everything in between. Not that there is a need for any band to be labeled or pigeon holed but my own description of Have a Nice Life is heavy rock, David Bowie experimental space age, prog rock, heavy synth, etc. Graham advised me to listen to their first album Death Consciousness prior to the show. I hear touches of Bowie, James, Smashing Pumpkins and others but it’s their own sound and style. I look around and see the joy and appreciation on the fans faces. Graham stands by me for a time but then makes his way up close to the stage where he almost takes a boot to the face from a passing crowd surfer. Every time the singer leans into the crowd, people grab at him, touching his head and yanking on his t shirt. The lead singer has a headache and in a touching moment, asks his wife to bring him two Advil from the front pocket of his backpack.

The music is not something I would have found on my own, but I like it and will listen more and take it all in on my own in time. What brings me joy is seeing the faces of the crowd, including my son, as the band launches into the finale, a song called Earth Mover which they apparently haven’t played live for some time. The small club, the fans, the rarity reminds me that this is what it must have been like for Springsteen fans to see him and the E Street Band back in the day in small clubs or what it would be like for them to play at the Upstage in Asbury Park and play Lost In The Flood or Wild Billy’s Circus Story in an intimate setting.

The lead singer is done for the night as he wraps a towel around his neck and heads to the back room. The guitar player shakes hands with the fans and takes a picture of the crowd. He turns to the curtain in back, pleading with the leaders to come back out for one more song. It is not to be. The lights and house music come up signaling their night is over, a second show follows Friday night. The crowd trickles out buzzing with chatter. The bass player who minutes ago was dripping with sweat as he bounced around the stage for 90 minutes is leaning back against the wall smoking a cigarette and asking the people nearby where they are from. He looks like Rainn Wilson, Dwight from The Office, in a heavy beard and army jacket. Fans walk by unaware that moments ago this same guy was bouncing side to side on stage.

We walk into the dark, rainy night, find our car and drive back to the hotel. I’ve driven a million miles with Graham in the backseat, me looking at him grow up over the years through a narrow rear view mirror. The years and miles roll by and my baby boy has turned into a strong, intelligent, kind, caring and determined young man with a wide open road in his future. The music may change, but the beat and rhythm are steady, The story remains the same. Whether it’s my parents listening to Elvis Presley, Chuck Berry, Neil Diamond or me listening to Bruce, Chris Stapleton, and Jason Isbell , or Rory listening to Harry Styles and Bob Marley or Graham listening to Have a Nice Life, the draw of the beat and the words of the singer are constant. The years and miles roll by, the name of the bands may change but the music plays on, the song remains and the road goes on forever.

Long Walk Home: Springsteen As The Voice of America

Posted on May 19, 2025 by rhilligoss

“In a generation of swine, the one eyed pig is king.” Hunter Thompson

May 18, 2025

Bruce Springsteen has long been a champion of the working class, lower class, underserved, unrepresented, homeless, veterans, voiceless and unseen Americans walking and living in and on the streets. From returning Vietnam vets as far back as 1973 in Lost In The Flood, unemployed construction workers in 1980 on The River, homeless veterans in Brothers Under The Bridge in 1995 and Sinaloa cowboys/pawns in the methamphetamine drug underworld. Album after album, song after song, lyric after lyric, year in and year out, the melodies may change, but the message doesn’t: we are human beings, we are Americans, and we deserve to be seen and respected. Apparently this is news to some of his fans who are “outraged” over his recent comments in the UK during shows on the latest leg of his tour that started in 2023. Some have announced a boycott of his music and concerts despite their false rage at what they see as “cancel culture” on the left.

“In my home, they’re persecuting people for their right to free speech and voicing their dissent. That’s happening now. In America, the richest men are taking satisfaction in abandoning the world’s poorest children to sickness and death. That’s happening now. In my country, they’re taking sadistic pleasure in the pain they inflict on loyal American workers.

They are removing residents off American streets without due process of law and deploying them to foreign detention centers as prisoners. That’s happening now. The majority of our elected representatives have utterly failed to protect the American people from the abuses of an unfit president and a rogue government. They have no concern or idea of what it means to be deeply American.

The America I’ve sung to you about for 50 years is real, and regardless of its many faults, it’s a great country with a great people, and we will survive this moment. Well, I have hope, because I believe in the truth of what the great American writer James Baldwin said. In this world, there isn’t as much humanity as one would like, but there’s enough.”

I’ve gone back and read his comments a few times to make sure I understood what he was saying, none of which is untrue. Human beings here in the states are being rounded up and shipped to El Salvador en masse with no due process. Students and entire universities are being detained and threatened with cuts in funding if they don’t adhere to Trump’s demands on DEI and minorities. The list is endless but the end result is that in a little over 4 months, the Trump administration and his 2025 puppet masters are well on their way in a quest to roll the country and government back to the 19th century, dismantling FDR’s great society and levers of control put in place by Teddy Roosevelt to limit monopolies, worker’s rights, unions and children. Basically, Trump wants to bring back the age of the robber barons, wealthy, white male property owners. If you are a female, LGBTQ, middle or lower class, homeless, suffering with mental health issues, addictions, etc, well, too bad. You should have inherited $250 million from your father like he did.

And for those on the right accusing Springsteen of being a coward for expressing his concerns overseas but not here, that is simply laughable. Springsteen spoke out against Reagan the night after the 1980 election by opening the show at ASU in Tempe, Arizona with, “I don’t how you feel about what happened last night but I am terrified.”, before ripping into a punk speed version of Badlands. He told Reagan to stop using Born In The USA as a campaign song in 1984. He spoke out against both Bush presidents, notably on the Magic album and tour, openly speaking out against extraordinary rendition, black sites and human rights abuses used in the war on terror. He openly spoke out against Trump during the first administration while on tour. This is not a new concept for Bruce Springsteen as artist citizen much in the vein of Woody Guthrie and Pete Seeger. When the election occured in November of 2024, Springsteen was on tour in Canada, a year and a half into a well structured and sometimes scripted concert performance. He opened the next following show with comments and ripped into Long Walk Home which contains the lyrics, ” That flag flying over the court house means certain things are set in stone, who we are, what we’ll do and what we won’t.”

Why anything Springsteen said in Manchester is found to be disagreeable by any of his “fans” is truly mind boggling.

From The Promised Land, a song Springsteen wrote and recorded in 1978 and sings every night on stage:

“I’ve done my best to live the right way
I get up every morning and go to work each day
But your eyes go blind and your blood runs cold
Sometimes I feel so weak I just want to explode
Explode and tear this whole town apart
Take a knife and cut this pain from my heart
Find somebody itching for something to start”

Wow, earth shattering!!!! He’s talking about people who work for a living, not the wealthy, not tech bros, not Elon Musk who inherited money and then invested and didn’t invent anything. People who saw their parents get up and work hard to pay the bills and barely make due. People who now live out those same lives, working everyday to feed their kids, to pay their electricity bill, to go to the doctor. The people who work so hard they forget what living means and lose that part of their inner lives.

From Badlands:

“Workin’ in the field
You get your back burned
Workin’ ‘neath the wheels
You get your facts learned
Baby, I got my facts
Learned real good right now
You better get it straight, darlin’

Poor man wanna be rich
Rich man wanna be king
And a king ain’t satisfied
‘Til he rules everything
I wanna go out tonight
I wanna find out what I got”

Holy shit!!!! People working in fields, people working in mechanic shops, people installing wire and nailing two by fours. People who work so hard they feel it slipping away but they know it ain’t no sin to be glad you’re alive. The people who want to keep pushing til it’s understood and these badland start treating them good.

From Brothers Under The Bridge written in 1995 and included on Tracks boxset:

“Campsite’s an hour’s walk from the nearest road to town
Up here there’s too much brush and canyon
For the CHP choppers to touch down
Ain’t lookin’ for nothin’, just wanna live
Me and the brothers under the bridge”

Yes, veterans of the Vietnam conflict. The same one Springsteen avoided through certain methods at the board office, the same one Donald Trump avoided because of his bone spurs note paid for by his daddy’s doctor. The same one’s who were turned away from their employers looking for their old jobs back, the same ones who didn’t receive the treatment they needed for PTSD, drug and alcohol addictions. The same one’s who now face even less funding for important programs because of this administration and Elon Musk’s delete button.

Song after song, album after album, lyric after lyric, it’s all there for anyone who has ears to hear and eyes to read the lyric sheets his “fans” have claimed to buy and read over the last 50 years. His message, his thoughts, his political ideals, his concern for America and Americans has been there from day one. How anyone can be shocked at this point in time is beyond comprehension. If this is the case, you are being disingenuous and just don’t want to hear it, or you haven’t listened to a damned word the man has sung every night for the majority of his life.

Artists of every medium make their art and send it out into the world. Some are much more visible and get print ink and screen time to broadcast that message. But they all have the right to express themselves in any way they choose. And as the viewer or listener, you have the right to like it or not and make decisions based on that whether that be not attending concerts, not listening to their music, not buying their output, etc. The old adage “shut up and sing” is perverse at best and tired at the worst. Bruce Springsteen has been singing the truth of the American way of life for decades, at least you can give him the courtesy of actually hearing his words and understanding them. Bruce Springsteen has a work ethic unmatched in the pop music field, good or bad, whether you like it or not, he has integrity in buckets and spades.

Donald Trump and his minions have a very narrow idea of what America should look like. They take joy and pride in being cruel for cruelties sake. Their train only carries the wealthy, the con men, the grifters, the whites and mostly males. In 1998, Springsteen was trying to write a song that would declare his intention of putting the band back together after a long break and hitting the road. He had the idea of a train carrying everyone to a promised land, a land where sunlight streams, a land of hope and dreams. He took the basis of the old folk song “This Train” sung by Sonny Brown and Terry McGee, the song sung by Woody, the song popularized by Big Bill Broonzy. But in their version, this train don’t carry saints and sinners, their train doesn’t carry whores and gamblers. It only carries the righteous and the holy. Springsteen wanted a train big enough for everyone: lost souls, sweet souls departed, saints and sinners, the weak, the strong, the poor, those of color, LGBTQ, women, Latinos, immigrants and those left to suffer by those who could have helped. That’s the kind of train Springsteen has been singing about since he picked up a guitar in 1964 and learned to play Twist and Shout. And for that, I am proud to call myself a fan of Bruce Springsteen. If you don’t like his vision of our country and the world, that’s OK, our train is big enough for everyone.

Thank you Bruce. Thank you for using the power of your voice and audience to speak for the unseen and unheard. Thank you for being a good companion for this part of the ride. Thank you for building a train where you don’t need a ticket, you just get on board.

Bob One Year On: Let’s Ride

Posted on December 8, 2024 by rhilligoss

Tonight I watched the documentary Albert Brooks: Defending My Life on HBO made by Brooks’ lifelong friend Rob Reiner. I know a lot about Brooks and many of his movies, but up until now, I didn’t know Brooks father was actor/comedian Harry Einstein who went by the name Parksykarkas. Brooks real name is Albert Einstein, talk about being born under pressure, and one of his brothers was the deceased actor/comedian Super Dave Osborne whose real name was Bob Einstein. The elder Einstein literally died on stage at a Friar’s Club performance in 1958 after delivering a 10 minute act to uproarious laughter. Albert was 11 years old when his father passed. In the documentary, Brook and Reiner go to visit Harry’s resting place at the Home of Peace mausoleum in L.A, resting next to Three Stooges own Shemp Howard. While looking at his father’s placard, Albert sighs, touches his fingers to his lips, presses his fingers to the bronze plate and says, “I miss you dad.” At the age of 77, his dad has been gone for 66 years, but the pain and sadness is visceral in the movie. I miss you dad, the loss and grief over a parent never ends no matter how much time has passed or how old you get.

Robert Lee Hilligoss, father to my brother Kevin and deceased brother Robert Sean, passed away roughly 13 months ago. It doesn’t seem like a year ago, it seems so fresh, like it happened yesterday, but simultaneously, it seems like it happened a lifetime ago. I can still hear the sound of Donna’s voice at 3:00am on a Monday morning, “Baby, dad is gone.” Four simple words that are anything but simple. Since he passed, I made a long overdue decision to see a therapist to work through some heavy baggage including the death of both my parents, a brother, a divorce and the changing nature of my role as a father as my two children have gotten older and started their process of moving on in life. I am not embarrassed to admit this and think we need to be much more public and open about seeking help when it’s needed. My therapist is an older lady, very kind and wise and helpful. Often times I think I am looking at and talking to my grandmother Letha Cook Hilligoss. She’s given me many tools to use as needed. When I feel overwhelmed or down, I can hear her voice in my head, “Ryan, tell yourself you’re Ok. Find your safe place in you head and repeat, you are OK. Breathe. Live with the pain, live with the discomfort. You’ve run away from it long enough. You can run but you can’t hide.”

During one session, she asked me if I was over my dad passing. I was silent as I processed her question. How can I possibly answer that question? She quickly realized she may have phrased her question poorly and asked differently, “Where are you in the grief process about your dad?” I hadn’t thought about it in those words so had to paused and process. Weeks later I still don’t really know how to answer her. Of the five classic stages of grief, denial, anger, bargaining, sadness and acceptance, I’ve been all over the place and certainly not in order. Angry?, yes. Denial? Certainly not. Even though it still feels like he just left for a really long trip from which we still await his return, I know he is gone and won’t be coming back in a physical sense, even though his ever present larger than life presence still hangs over all of us at family gatherings and the echoes at the VFW dance hall. Sometimes one stage slides into another from day to day, sometimes all at once. Each of us is different and we all process the grief in our own way, but losing a parent or sibling or other loved one is a universal experience suffered by all.

I use the tools I have been given by my therapist the best I can but sometimes I find my own ways to process my thoughts and feelings. Often times, I’ll go for a drive in the surrounding country side and get lost in my thoughts and memories as the tires hum down the dark county road asphalt. I grip the steering wheel, out my foot on the gas and let the passing homes and farms roll by like so many days and years. Sometimes I sense my dad’s presence next to me in the passenger seat, as usual, he’s looking at the passing sights and giving an ever persistent rambling monologue on all he sees and thinks. His voice is in my head as the miles roll by.

One of the constants in my life and relationship with my dad was driving. Pure and simple, wheels on the road. From day one, driving from point A to point B, short distances, long distances, some interminable. Dad at the wheel driving from Alton to Springfield, home to our family restaurant, St. Louis to Phoenix to visit the Hilligoss crew in their desert relocation. Ten minutes here, 2 hours there, all over Illinois, Missouri, Indiana and other surrounding states. Dad at the wheel listening to the news on AM radio and occasionally a Cardinals game on KMOX as he drove a series of cars from one place to another. A tan family Chevy Wagon, mom’s powder blue Chrysler New Yorker, his 1977 green Ford Thunderbird, the 1964 1/2 green convertible Mustang with a white top he was so proud of and a blue Ford ecocline van we used for catering. Have you ever stopped to consider simply the amount of miles you have either ridden or driven in your life. Between all of my travels with the family and my own driving as an adult for personal and business, I’ve calculated I’ve travelled roughly 3 million miles in 50 years of living. Yes, 3 million miles.

When I was a kid, dad didn’t talk to me directly much, often times if was just the two of us, he listened to the radio and kept the chatter to a bare minimum. If others were in the car, especially adults and family, I wasn’t part of the conversation and relegated to the way, way back of the station wagon. As I got older and especially after I started college, we started talking more. He was a history and social studies teacher off and on for 40 years and knew his stuff. He was fascinated with history, US history, the civil war, Native Americans, WW II and on and on. I studied history in college as well and we could talk and have intelligent conversations about where we as a family and a country came from, where we had been and where we were going as a people. We talked about music, politics, Illinois history, sports and everything in between. We talked, but mostly it was Bob talking as if he were in front of his classroom and I was the student, which I was, the classroom just happened to be on 4 wheels and moving down the highway at 65 miles per hour.

Over the years, dad took me and my brothers Kevin and Sean all over the country and we made several special road trips to take in the sites and experience as much as we could. Arizona, New Mexico, Oklahoma as we travelled along the ghost of Route 66. In Illinois, Mattoon near where the family was from, Charleston home of Eastern Illinois University where he and I along with our grandmother Letha Hilligoss attended as well as his brothers Ron and Rick. One epic trip, Kevin, dad and I drove up through Minnesota, South Dakota into Montana where we rode horse back through the Bitterroot Mountains taking in Custer’s Last Stand with Native American Crow guides, and on into Idaho, down through Wyoming and the Grand Teton’s where he insisted he get out of the car and bellow “Shane!!!! Come back Shane” just as they did in the movies when he was a boy. We drove to Archer City Texas so I could visit Larry McMurtry’s home town where The Last Picture Show was filmed and Larry’s one million book store collection. Louisville Kentucky to see Muhammad Ali’s boy hood home and grave site. Abraham Lincoln’s two homes in Indiana where he was originally born and raised. We saw as much as we could in the time allotted to us on any given trip, often arriving home exhausted and needing a vacation from our vacation. And all along the way, it was Bob doing most of the talking while we listened and tried our best to distract him and irritate him with our never ending nonsense. While driving through Yellowstone Park one day, he once told me to get out and go make fun of a nearby buffalo. Sure thing, “You stupid buffalo. Just look at you laying there. So stupid.”

For the last 25 years, anytime we were in the car together, I drove and he rode shotgun. My hands on the wheel and him refusing to buckle his seat belt until he heard the ding for the 100th time, “Oh, that must be me.” Yes, it’s you just like it is every time we get in a car. Always a cup of coffee in his hand, half a cup in a Styrofoam cup. I felt better about my chances of surviving the trip if I drove as when he drove he was too busy talking and having a good time to pay attention. So I drove and he rode and talked, his favorite past time and what he was famous for. His memory was astounding as he remembered facts, details, weather conditions, the prices of things like gas, bread, clothes going back to when he was a child. So he observed and talked and the rest of us did the driving. In the last few years, he occasionally would say cryptic things like, “If something were to happen to me, I want you to do…….”, this that and the other. Use this picture for my memorial service, play these songs, give XYZ to so and so. Never at home or sitting down, only when we were driving, that’s how his mind worked, only when in motion would he get serious for a moment. All my life, we shared countless memories, experiences and conversations on the road.

One of my favorite quotes comes from historian Douglas Brinkley in his cross country odyssey journal The Magic Bus, “Not all that is to be learned can be taught in the class room. And so we take to the open road.” Dad would never had read that book, but he exemplified and lived Brinkley’s message everyday of his life. Anytime I miss him, I imagine being behind the wheel with him next to me, hearing his voice explain the history of wherever it was we were passing through at any given moment, the teacher’s lessons never ending.

Today’s a beautiful day, I think I’ll take a drive. Let’s ride Bobby Lee.

Long Walk Home

Posted on November 3, 2024 by rhilligoss

“That flag flying over the courthouse means certain things are set in stone
Who we are, what we’ll do and what we won’t”

The flag and its colors mean a lot to me as a lifelong American. I was born here, I was raised here and this is where I’ll die and be buried when it’s time.

Red white and blue are free to be displayed by any person of any political persuasion, they aren’t beholden to any one political party. I wear them proudly often and sometimes am mistaken for representing certain ideals.

What that flag means to me is:

We won’t talk about putting our political opponents or dissidents in a firing circle

We won’t use the military against a false “enemy within”

We won’t boast about the “good things Hitler did with his good German generals”

We won’t crack down on a free press which is guaranteed by the bill of rights and the constitution, things some wave around only when certain parts meet their standards but ignore the other 99% of them

The flag does not represent authoritarian totalitarianism with a “strong man” acting unilaterally

The flag does not represent constantly punching down at those you think are inferior because of their skin color, national of origin or their political opinions

The flag does not represent people living in fear because of their sexual orientation

The flag does not represent some people needing to get permission on what they do with their bodies. I didn’t have to get approval on my need for BP and cholesterol medicine or any procedures I’ve chosen to have done

The flag represents the ideals set forth centuries ago that all people are created equal and that we should be allowed to prosper and have domestic tranquility

My grandfather Robert Samuel Hilligoss served in the Pacific in the Marines in WWII fighting fascism and totalitarianism. He didn’t risk his life and the very existence of my entire family for me to vote for someone who has no concept of what a United States of America truly means.

If this offends anyone I know, I don’t care.

I’ve been offended by those who side with seditionists and those unwilling to recognize the peaceful transfer of power. And I’ve been quiet for fear of offending them. Those days are over

Get over it snowflake.

A Window Into Infinity

Posted on January 19, 2024 by rhilligoss

It’s a typical busy holiday season. It’s cold outside. Christmas lights, decorations and wreaths everywhere. Walking into a busy restaurant I look around trying to find a table. My eyes land on the nice older couple above.

They are in their late 70s or early 80s, both wearing fun holiday themed hats. They sit, quietly. She scrolling on her phone. Him just sitting and enjoying the moment, lost in thought. Maybe he’s thinking of what he had for lunch. Maybe he’s thinking about Christmases past and missing someone. Maybe he’s just lost in thought, a mediation of where he’s at in life and where he’s been.

I’m wearing a green Boston Scally cap I bought last year for the holidays. I find a table to sit at and order my lunch. The couple finish their quiet moment and gather their things before leaving the restaurant.

As they pass, the man makes eye contact with me, nods his head and tips his hat to me, one Christmas hat to another. “I like your hat,” he says simply but in a deep authoritarian voice that reminds me of Morgan Freeman narrating The March of the Penguins. I reply with a grin, “I like your style.”

He asks if he can sit down for a moment as he pulls out a chair. Being the mild midwesterner I am, what else but to smile and nod, of course you can. Be my guest.

His name is George and her name is Helen. George and Helen. They are both 80 years old. They are here in Chicago visiting his kids for the holiday. George and Helen have been through some things as he pours forth with their life story. They met in high school, fell in love and married right after high school. He got a job at a local plant and they bought a small 2 room bedroom cottage with a loan from his parents.

They settled in but before they could have kids , he got drafted into the marines during Vietnam. He served in the motor pool overseas with his unit. He never saw live duty and returned home after his initial assignment was up. Helen waited patiently for him staying just with her family and friends as best she could. But she waited.

George returned home to see his wife and partner. But he wasn’t the same. His service had done some things to him. Helen tried to help and make him comfortable and relaxed. George couldn’t relax. It pained him but he got restless and told Helen he had to leave so he could keep moving and keep the things he had seen off his mind. Therapy wasn’t a thing back then.

George and Helen both moved on, met other people and had lives and children of their own. But they both kept the other in the back of their minds. And then one day after each of their partners had died, Helen picked up the phone and called her original love, the love of her life to see how he was doing. “I’m ok but it sure is lonely here. I miss you.”

Ten years later here they are wearing Christmas hats and looking quiet, happy and peaceful.

George says he has to go and stands up pushing the chair in like a gentleman would. He tips his hat to me one more time as do I.

We both wish the other a merry Christmas. I don’t think George needs the well wishes. I think he found what he was looking for all this time.

“We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.”

TS Eliot, Little Gidding

Square One

Posted on January 10, 2024 by rhilligoss

“Had to find some higher ground
Had some fear to get around
You can’t say what you don’t know
Later on won’t work no more

Last time through, I hid my tracks
So well I could not get back
Yeah, my way was hard to find
Can’t sell your soul for peace of mind

Square one, my slate is clear
Rest your head on me, my dear
It took a world of trouble, it took a world of tears
It took a long time to get back here”

Square One, Highway Companion Tom Petty

By Ryan Hilligoss, January 9, 2024

After living 49 years and spending half of that building an adult life and all that entails, I am fully back to square one. It’s not a great feeling to live with everyday and try to sleep at night.

Both my mother and father are gone and my middle brother passed eight years ago. What was a family of five is down to two. When you are a kid, for most, you have grandparents, aunts, uncles, etc. Then one by one the layers start to peel back and now I am the parent and there’s no more layers between here and the end of the road. All that is left is the time to make of it what I will on my own. I stand at a crossroads searching each direction for a sign or a tantalizing view. A whole universe made up of family, friends, ties, geographical locations has evaporated into the ether.

My father has been gone for roughly two months, and since then I’ve come to a realization of how much of my world was taken up by his. Robert Hilligoss was a one of a kind, a human force of nature. When he walked into the room, he had a presence that filled the room. His big personality was the center of attention. The rest of us were just ancillary, character actors filling roles in the back ground. For most of my life I was bit player, watching a professional work his magic, tall tales, jokes and good times.

I was married for nearly 20 years and helped raise two beautiful, great children, a nineteen year old son and seventeen year old daughter. Now I’m divorced and have been single for several years. My son will be leaving for college in the fall and my daughter will be graduating from high school in May.

This is a long winded way of saying the life I built up until now is gone. I will always be the father of my children and take care of them as long and in every way I can, being for them in every way possible. But there are parts of my life that are empty and hollow to say the least. I’m back at square one, my slate is clear. It’s time to rebuild and make the second half of life something full of sunshine, care and love. I hope to see you up the road while I figure it all out, hopefully with some help this time. Someone to help carry the weight.

Twelve Days

Posted on December 18, 2023 by rhilligoss

By Ryan Hilligoss December 10, 2023

My father passed away at 2:30am on Monday November 13, 2023. I got the call at 3:00am, lying in that halfway place between dreamland and wakefulness. I had been tossing and turning for an hour when I heard my phone vibrating in silent mode. Maybe it’s a car warranty sale person, maybe it’s one of the kids with an emergency?? No, “Your dad is gone.” Four simple words. Four words that change your life forever. A whole universe gone with a few words in the middle of the night. For the next twelve days, I would suspend disbelief to keep him with me. Magical thinking.

Instantly, my mind and body went back to 2017 when my father called to say, “Your mom won’t wake up.” What did that mean, was she gone? was she in a coma? will I be able to see her again? On that day, 300 miles away and without definite information, I jumped in my car and headed south as fast as I could tearing down Interstate 55 towards St. Louis. So when I got the call last month, my mind and body immediately thought “I have to get there as quick as I can to see him.”

I had an hour of anguish and sorrow like I’ve never experienced before. Then my mind realized: he’s gone, you don’t have to rush there right this instant. I made phone calls to family and friends to deliver the news and to seek comfort amid my shock and disbelief. I talked with my two children about plans – who has school, who has work, can you go, when should we go? – I stayed at home for several more hours getting my affairs in order, packing a bag and finally setting out for the four-hour drive back to my childhood home.

But in hindsight, maybe I was stalling, thinking if I just stayed there and didn’t travel back home, maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t real. Maybe it was some elaborate ruse or maybe I was actually still asleep.

I arrived in my hometown Monday afternoon along with my son Graham. With my brother Kevin and his wife unfortunately stuck a thousand miles away as part of a long-ago planned trip, my first stop was to see my dad’s lady friend, his “dance partner”. I rang the doorbell, she came to the door, we looked at each other through the glass knowing exactly what the other was feeling: that spirit that lit up any room he walked into was gone. We hugged and held each other.

This was the same process that followed each time I saw a family member or friend in the next few days. The look, the catch in the throat, the tears spilling down our cheeks, the holding onto each other as if we were holding onto him. As if we held on close enough we would force him to stay here on this earthly plane.

What followed for the next 12 days was what our father taught us from a very early age: work. My dad grew up on a farm, his parents were tenement farmers in east central Illinois. He had a hard life as a child and young man, working hard on the farm, cutting broom corn on hot summer days, delivering newspapers via a bicycle, flipping hamburgers at the original Burger King in Mattoon, Il, etc.

Four generations: Father’s Day 2010, Humboldt, Il cemetery

In 1977 when I was a child, our parents bought a Browns Chicken franchise in Alton, Il. Being the hard workers they were, they opened a second franchise in a nearby town in 1980. It was a family operation with both parents and all three of us sons working at the restaurants. I earned my first paycheck in 1982 at the age of 8 and earned $165 dollars that year, all of them spent at the donut shop next door…..”165 vanilla long johns please, sir.”

(If I only I had invested half of the money I earned frying chicken and mushrooms, wiping tables and moping floors, I could be retired right now.)

Our father taught us all the value and meaning of hard work. He taught us it gives us meaning, it gives us strength and sustenance, it puts our minds at ease and our bodies in motion at the same time. He taught us to have pride in our work, done with our own two hands. He taught us life isn’t easy, but you need to do what you can to make a difference in any way we can. He taught us work is an honest man’s pillow.

But fried chicken is a far cry from the work at hand of tending and caring for the dead. Funeral arrangements, looking after the house, taking care of the cars, financial matters, visiting and speaking with friends and family, each of us trying to take care of each other as we each processed the loss of a father, a friend, a coworker, a coach, a teacher, a dance partner.

I quickly fell into a pattern of doing what Bob would have been doing or what we would have been doing together on my many visits. Coffee in the mornings with my uncle, stopping by the auto dealership he drove cars for to speak with the Jason, Mark and Will who viewed dad as a surrogate father, dropping in to see Donna Kay/Donna 2/his dance partner/his lady friend, seeing Jackson, the young man who lives next door to my dad, and his favorite – going to the Alton VFW and Grafton Winery to enjoy live music.

On day six, we held the visitation and funeral. People came through the visitation line from 10:00am until 1:15pm when the funeral director advised we needed to start the service. He said he had never seen so many people come through a service line in all the years he had been handling funerals. I was crippled with grief and cried from places I didn’t know I had. Each time I thought I had let it all out, I would see someone I’ve known for years and it would all rush out again.

My heart was and remains broken. Losing my father was a double loss for me. He was my father, my last parent, but more importantly he was one of my best friends. Nobody tells you that when your parents die you feel like you’ve become an orphan, no matter how old you are.

The following six days were a continuation of the same: coffee and meals with relatives and friends, taking care of the house, making Bob’s rounds. I found myself driving his car, wearing his jacket, as if I was standing in his place, trying my best to live as two people: myself while also processing a profound loss and life changing event, and him, walking in his shoes which are too big to fill.

On day twelve, it was time to make the long journey back to my own home, to try to re renter a life that would never be the same. As I pulled from the driveway on that day, I backed into the cul de sac, shifted into drive but kept my foot on the brake as I paused and took a long look at the house I had grown up in and spent half my life with my family in.

The house stood as it always has, lights on in the front hallway and the living room but this time nobody is home. The five of us now cast into the wind like so many seeds blowing in space and time. As I eased slowly down the street, a heavy feeling came over me: that’s the end of my whole life as I have known it up until now. My life is my own now to write out and live as best I can until I myself am no longer here on earth.

And then an even heavier feeling came over me. After having spent the last twelve days acting as my dad in some ways and taking care of him, by leaving the house I felt I was abandoning him in some way, even though I know that’s not reasonable or sensible. That’s the feeling I still carry as I write these words.

Here is the nasty truth about a sudden traumatic life event: not only are we in disbelief over what occurred, who we lost, we also delude ourselves into thinking we have learned some valuable lessons. When my brother Sean passed in 2015, I took away two things: 1. make amends with those you love because you never know when it is time and you don’t want to hold onto regret if something happens, and more tactically 2. get your will and estate plans ready so those left behind don’t have to struggle with the estate logistics.

The mistake many of us make after a loss like this is forgetting so quickly what in that moment is so clear – that life is finite and there is only so much time left. We quickly see how we want to spend the rest of our lives and commit to making changes: maybe it’s chasing long-dormant dreams, making that phone call to a long lost friend or family member, making that change in address, finding that special someone.

And then time passes and that clarity of purpose vanishes with each passing day. The focus fades and life as usual marches on until it’s too late for us as well.

As a way of reminding myself, I say this here for me and for those reading: don’t wait. Do it now. Regret is too heavy a burden to carry. Don’t let the moment pass. As Kinky Friedman once wrote, find what you love in life and ride it down until it kills you. Saddle up and ride my friends.

The World of Bob Hilligoss

Posted on November 24, 2023 by rhilligoss

My family and I laid my father Robert Hilligoss to rest this past weekend. I wanted to share excerpts from the eulogy I delivered in his name for those who were unable to say their goodbyes in person.

—————

I saw a quote recently that really resonated with me, from the show Ted Lasso:

“I want you to be grateful that you’re going through this sad moment with all these other folks. Because I promise you, there is something worse out there than being sad and that’s being alone and being sad. Ain’t nobody in this room alone.”

And that is us. None of us in this room are alone. We are all here through the magic and the power and the glory that was Robert, Bob, Bobby Lee Hilligoss. He has brought all of us in this room together through the gift that was his life, his charm, his charisma, his laugh, his stories, his jokes, his dancing. Nobody here is alone. We all share the grief and the sense of loss of this man who Kevin and I were proud to call our father.

[Music: No Hard Feelings, Avett Brothers]

I played that song because I’ve learned this from my mom and brother dying. Any regrets you have about my dad, interactions, disagreements, things you wish you had done, let them go. He would want you to go on with life and be happy. It’s okay to look back from a historical point of view so you know where you came from, but don’t hold onto the past. It’s ok let it go….that’s his last gift to you. It’s OK, go and live and love and have a good time and most importantly, dance if you feel like dancing.

My dad was the hardest working person I ever knew. This is one of the reasons he couldn’t sit still for too long. Starting at a very young age he helped his dad on their farm and from there he never stopped. Some of the jobs he held throughout his life included:

Cutting broom corn in the fields around Humboldt, IL

Being a server at Burger King in Mattoon, where he invented the distinct calling of order numbers still in existence there, number 9!!!!!

Concrete pourer

Iron welder

Railroad fireman

JC Penney salesman during the summers when he taught at Divernon and Rochester

Coach

Teacher

Restaurant owner, Brown’s Chicken and The Shoe Factory

Charlie Parkers Restaurant, featured on Diners, Drive Ins

Quick N EZ stores in Springfield, cashier and The Iceman

Driver – Smart Choice Auto Sales, where he drove cars and generally made a nuisance of himself much to the delight of the gang who gave it right back to him.

Apart from all of the various jobs and careers he amassed over his productive and hardworking lifetime, my dad also was also known for breaking out with what can now only be referred to as “Common Bob-isms” which will color our memories of him forever. Some of them include:

“All hands forward aft. Stand to and man the firestep. Grab the brooms and mops and swab the decks…..It’s quitting time” I believe this is from a poem or movie but not sure. He would announce it often in class or around the house trying to be funny.

Mashed potato…bump bump bump bump……Anyone who spent any time around dad heard him exclaim this at random moments. Once when he visited us in Cortland, he decided he wanted to make real mashed potatoes for lunch. I had no potato masher so we decied to go to the store. I suggested Target but being the cheap wad he was he insisted we go to Dollar General. I dropped dad and Graham off at the front door to save him walking and went to park. Rory and I walked into the store and all I heard, from across the back corner of the room, 100 feet away was dad saying loudly, “Mashed potato, bump bump bump.”

His requirement that his coffee come in half cup increments, and only in a Styrofoam cup

My horrifying experience as a 10yo child of of having to pull off his boots, his socks and lotion his feet after work on a very frequent and unfortunate basis. Still traumatized from that one.

Hey grab my ankle and pull. After having fallen off a ladder and obliterating his ankle in 1995, he had no ankle on his right leg, doctors having fused the bones together, he would seek relief by asking me, Will at Smartchoice and any other fool willing to do it to grab his right foot and lean back proving some needed relief to the joint.

His memory was impeccable, almost eerie at times on exact dates, years, locations, who said what, how much he spent on jeans in 1957 etc. Uncle BS….

“Dad, where were you on Pearl Harbor Day, December 7^th, 1941?” (mind you, he was born on January 3 1942)

“I was in my mothers stomach. Mom had gone into contractions and thought she was giving birth. The doctor told her to go back home, false alarm. Mom and dad stopped at a diner on the way home and had cheeseburgers. It was 35 degrees that day with a slight breeze from North to South….”

Everyone in this room is likely to have their own Bob stories. Here are two more that define him:

He once took his dogs to the groomers, dropped them off and then went to the nearest bank to take a 3-hour nap in their lobby while he waited for the dogs to be done because he didn’t want to drive back and forth 30 minutes and spend money on gas. “Sir, can we help you with something?” “No, I am just waiting.”

2. This past summer during my birthday weekend, Dad and I took a road trip to Atlanta to visit friends. Dad stayed with Danny Proffit , while I stayed with one of my friends who lives there and another friend who flew in to meet us. Dad invited himself to join our plans (against our will but he would not take no for answer) and before we knew it, we were spending the day at the pool with Bob.

After a few hours, he asks me to take a video of him jumping off the diving board. This man is 81 years old. He tells me he wants to do this so that someday his grandkids will see that they had a grandpa who jumped off diving boards.

Jump 1 – the color drains from my friends’ faces. Jump 2 – they send panicked looks to me that clearly say “DO SOMETHING, MAKE IT STOP”. One of them asks nearby pool patrons if anyone has a medical background just in case. She marches over to the pool manager and quietly explains that we need her to make something up and get him off this diving board “What should I say?” “I don’t care.”

So, as he’s approaching the board for his third dive, the pool manager walks up and says “Sir, is this your last dive?”

“Why?”

“People are concerned”

“WHO? Who is concerned!?!?!?!?!”

Bob lived a full life. It comforted me to come across this short list the other day. The Five Regrets of the Dying are the anecdotal accounts of palliative care nurse Bronnie Ware and summarize the most common regrets she heard expressed by those nearing death, which included:

“I wish I’d had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me.”
“I wish I hadn’t worked so hard.”
“I wish I’d had the courage to express my feelings.”
“I wish I had stayed in touch with my friends.”
“I wish that I had let myself be happier.”^[14]

Living true to myself: My father never lacked for having courage and living the life he wanted for himself and those around him. He was never one to wait around waiting for others to make decisions. He always had plans for trips, conversations, people to see, calls to make, etc. He lived life to the fullest everyday, and he did it his way.

I wish I hadn’t worked so hard: As indicated above, Bob was the hardest working man I ever met and never was one to sit around. Always on the move.

I wish I had expressed my feelings more: This is the only one of the 5 I think pertained to him and he wished he had expressed his love and affection more. He was not much of a hugger to us in the family, and if so it was the classic mid western side hug. He didn’t say he loved us very much but he didn’t need to. We knew by his actions and the smile on his face.

I wish I had stayed in contact with my friends more: Categorically does not apply to Robert Hilligoss. Many of his closest friends were people he knew most of his life including classmates from Mattoon High School class of 1960, Eastern Illinois University class of 1964 and kids he taught and/or coached in school 50+ years ago. He was constantly in contact with his friends and family on the phone, on Facebook, in person, class reunions etc.

I wish I had been happier: False. He got to live a second life from the age of 74-81 after having stents put in his arteries in 2016. Not everyone gets a second chance at life, but he did and he lived it to the max, filling those days, weekends, and years with laughter, good times with family and friends, and lots and lots of dancing.

He was a fairly simple man, relatively speaking. But he was a complicated man. He loved unconditionally but had a lot of conditions. He wanted everyone to think like he thought and do as he wanted but he often times wanted to do his own thing.

He would say things that often times stung and hurt, but they were his terms of endearment. “Ryan, you’re fat and need to lose weight.” That was his way of saying he loved me and wanted me to be healthy.

In 2015, our brother sean died. The very first person through the visitation line was one of Sean’s clients at the probation department. She said Sean stayed on her butt with visits, work checkups, etc and if wasn’t for him, she would not be alive today.

We don’t know the full impact we have on the lives of others. We can either be a force of positive change in the lives of those around us, or we can be a force of negativity. Be careful with how you treat others.

Dad impacted the lives of countless students, athletes, employees, co workers and friends and family.

I’d like to share a note I got this week from Justin McQuality that illustrates this exact point:

”….Very sorry to hear of the loss of your father. He was a hugely important person in my life. He helped straighten me out in middle school and high school when I needed it. Literally drove me from school for more than a year of my life to help out me and my parents while they were going through a divorce. Just seemed like he always knew the right thing to say to make me believe in myself, and believe in my abilities.

I honestly don’t know if I would have made it where I am today without his support and I certainly wouldn’t be a coach without his support. Thank you to his family for sharing him with us all these years. As a coach, I know how all too well how difficult than can be sometimes. I will always remember him and his influence will live on through the years through the athletes I now coach because of him.”

One of the many friends I’ve made through my community of fellow Bruce Springsteen fans, Sarah Bee, shared this moving and fitting sentiment about Bob:

“Forces of nature don’t die. Parts wear out, bodies get retired, floating forever in echoes of laughter bouncing off wooden gym floors and metal rafters, like the hard earned felt banners decades of kids coached brought home. Every buzzer reminds us that as each moment ends, the next begins.”

Whitman Leaves of Grass, Songs of Myself verse 52

I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love

If you want me again, look for me under your boot soles

You will hardly know what I am or what I mean but I shall bring good health you nonetheless

And filter and fiber your blood

Failing to fetch me at first, keep encouraged

Missing me one place, search another

I stop somewhere waiting for you

I found this post Dad wrote on FB on July 19, 2020:

“I was having a short discussion of the meaning of life. They said there is none, they may be right, but there is purpose. We are here to help each other along the way, I don’t believe that we are swimming against the tides in a sea of despair. We are to give aid and comfort to our families. And to help friends and strangers as well. It is a purpose to find joy in our lives. It is not my objective to find misery in my existence. If our lives are in a personal cesspool who is responsible. Life is not complicated, it is simple. Enjoy it.”

“I am the master of my fate, the captain of my soul.” Invictus by William Ernes Henly

In our family, whether by blood, friendship or simple proximity, we grab you in and make you a part of it whether you want to or like it at all. We might not always get along and we have our moments of disagreement, but in the end, we have each other’s backs all day and all night. We love you, whether you want to be loved or not.

In some cultures, they believe you die three times: when you take your last breath, when your remains are handled, and when your name is spoken for the last time. May the name of Robert Lee Hilligoss live on for a long, long time through his stories, memories of his dancing, and through the smiles he put on our faces.

After John Lennon passed away, Paul McCartney went to the island of Monserrat to get away and record some music he was working on. He called his old friend Carl Perkins to come down and play guitar on a song. Carl spent a few days and the night before he was set to leave, a warm feeling came over him and he wrote a song called My Old Friend. He played the song for Paul, Paul abruptly stood up crying and ran from the room. Carl was perplexed at what had happened. Linda McCartney gave carl a hug and told Carl that the last words John said to Paul were, won’t you think of me every now and then my old friend. Sometimes there are forces in the universe we can’t see but can feel the push and pull of as we go about our daily lives.

For the last few years, every time we did anything, dad would say, “This could be the last time: we get a cup of coffee, this could be the last time I go dancing, this could be the last time I go to the family reunion. You never know when it will be your last time. Be good to each other, be good to yourselves. Enjoy every sandwich. Buy the good wine. Buy the concert tickets. Take that trip you’ve had on your list. Dance if you feel like it. And every once in a while, think about our old friend.

Earth received an honored guest, Robert Lee Hilligoss is laid to rest.

Music played during and after the service:

Intro songs:

Pilgrim, Steve Earle (5:30)

No Hard Feelings, Avett Brothers (5:20)

Terry’s Song, Bruce Springsteen (4:10)

Sweet Sweet Spirit, JD Sumner and Stamps (4:00)

Live Forever, Highwaymen (2:45)

Jay Opening Comments

In The Garden, Elvis Presley (3:00)

Ryan intro: Jaxon/Scott

Graham

Take Up Your Spade, Sara Watkins (2:30)

Rick

Mark Thornsberry

Jay- recitation,

My Father’s House, Ryan Adams (5:30)

Ryan, open to anyone who wants to speak

My Old Friend, Carl Perkins (3:30)

Kevin

I’ll See You In My Dreams, Bruce (3:05)

Jay Closing remarks, lunch announcement

Exit, song selections

Lovely Cruise

Life Is Beautiful

I’ll Fly Away, Allison Krauss and Gillan Welch

Can’t Help Falling In Love

Let It Be

Lovely Cruise

Life Is Beautiful

A House Is Not A Home

Posted on November 5, 2023 by rhilligoss

“Happiness is a journey, not a destination. for a long time it seemed to me that life was about to begin – real life. but there was always some obstacle in the way, something to be gotten through first, some unfinished business, time still to be served, a debt to be paid. at last it dawned on me that these obstacles were my life. this perspective has helped me to see there is no way to happiness. happiness is the way. so treasure every moment you have and remember that time waits for no one.”- Souza

By Ryan Hilligoss, November 4, 2023

The young family moved into their newly purchased home in June of 2006. A husband, wife, 2-year old boy and 2-month old baby girl. The house was built in 2002 but still seemed brand new on that day, at least in his mind. A small front yard, two-car garage, large fenced-in back yard for the two-year old and the soon-to come dogs to run around. Three bedrooms, a family room, a living room and large open kitchen with cozy dining area.

Furniture in the nearby rental van would shortly fill the rooms and art would be hung on the walls. The couch still inside the van would soon support the 2 month-old as she grew into a walker, holding on to the edges as she learned her way.

The house changed with the years. New patio pavers were added in the back, new concrete steps were replaced on the front and new landscaping stones curved around the flower bed. In the blink of an eye, the kids were 10 and 8. Endless whiffle ball home runs over the back fence for the boy and countless bubbles blown through a plastic straw for the girl, who laughed wildly as she spun around, popping bubbles with her small hands.

As the kids got older still, the husband and wife grew apart. The death of two parents, medical issues, long-distance support requiring frequent, long drives home to help care for a third parent all placed undue stress on everyone involved. This is how life runs good people who are simply trying their best to get through each day through a meat grinder, mashing the blood and bone down to fundamental atoms of existence, until they’re unrecognizable as their former selves.

Soon divorce became inevitable. The wife didn’t want the house. To keep a semblance of consistency for the kids in the only house they knew, the husband stayed behind. New paint on the walls, new carpet to replace the dog-stained old one, new kitchen table to start new memories over family meals.

Time moved on. The kids now shared two homes, and as they got older and began to develop interests and friendships, they spent less and less time at the house. It grew heavy with memories, and to the husband, it seemed as though ghosts filled the hallways and backyard. But he stayed, out of habit, out of what he knew and what seemed familiar, right or wrong, mostly wrong.

And now the house is home to father and son while mother and daughter live a short few miles away by car, but a galaxy away in other respects. The husband – he still thinks of himself as ‘the husband’ – remains alone out of self preservation, not wanting to take a chance, his heart locked up tight behind a friendly smile, glasses and an ever-present baseball hat.

Passing the time comes easily when working two jobs. What little downtime exists he spends listening to music, watching movies and reading books. There are so many books. The house groans with an ever-increasing number of possessions, but the man remains alone.

On reflection, it’s true that he came by it honestly in life, his mom forever collecting antiques, clothes and household goods until every room in his childhood home was bursting, slowly becoming a veritable museum of curiosities. But at this age, that’s no excuse for continuing to make poor decisions.

Wasted money and time trying to fill a void that possessions can’t fill

The weight of disappointment, regret and lost time is heavy, but as he has grown to learn from a bitter divorce, as well as the deaths of his mother, brother and former in-laws, life is too short even on its longest days. It’s too short to spend it wasting those remaining days holding on to the past, afraid of the future.

Filling rooms in an empty house with material goods doesn’t heal your soul. The man is finally learning life is much more than buying yet another book, more coffee mugs, one more souvenir t-shirt. He slowly..and then all at once, comes to an important realization. It’s time to declutter the house of unneeded possessions. Time, too, to declutter his heart and mind of a past that can never be undone.

It’s time to start anew, make better decisions, find the sunshine in life and let it shine on his face. Open his heart to the beauty of possibility. A house is not a home if there is no one to share it with, no one to care for. A house is not a home if there is no laughter and smiles and dreams to be made. A house is not a home without life and love.

Maybe it’s time to let the house go for a new family to make their own memories. It’s time for this man to build a home once again. May you all find the sunshine, find the soul shine, find the one who can help you heal the scars and help you learn to love again. It’s time to let the old ways die, to learn from the past and look to the future and to the possibilities that lie ahead.

unionavenue706

All things merge into one, and a river runs through it

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