And you know what, he was my friend. I say that because I've always wondered where I stood with Bob. In fact, I think I've spent most of my adult life trying to figure out where I stand with most people. Over the years, and relative to this business of fly fishing and life, I've heard Lefty, Clouser, and Flip defend their friendships with the big guns and how there has been much lost in the translation of what is friend, mentor, and acquaintance.
According to the Oxford dictionary, "Friend- a person whom one knows and with whom one has a bond of mutual affection, typically exclusive of sexual or family relations". Well, we aren't blood, and not gay for each other, so we must be friends. I can say that now because I have spent many hours thinking of Bob since his accident over a month ago and now his passing 48 hours ago.
I first met Bob, along with the other movers, shakers, and legends in saltwater fly fishing when I used to fill in and help out at The Fly Hatch. Back then I was all juiced up about trout fishing coming off A River Runs Through It and was all about the Upper Delaware Rivers. I had met them all but didn't take real notice until the late 2000's when I developed a striped bass mental disorder. The above pic was taken outside of Betty and Nicks in October 2010. He was at the counter and was nice enough when I asked for a pic and that was it. Just a nice guy. Then I saw him at The International Fly Tying Symposium a month later and he recognized me but did a double take when he saw my The Average Angler hat. "Hey, I follow your blog everyday", and let's just say that was the start of something good and really special.
Bob was so much to so many people and any words I write here come from someone on the outside of his innermost circles. As I said earlier, I'm not blood, I didn't grow up with him in Trenton, didn't frequent The Shady Rest throughout my life, and never called Ocean County and all of it's haunts home. But what I have come to realize is how much I thought of him, especially when not in his presence, and how much contact I had with him about things big and small. Bob was a master at relationships. He knew how to plant the seeds and cultivate them, kind of like his rose garden. He not only nurtured the relationships between him and say the other person, but made the connections between good people he thought could benefit from knowing each other. And in this business, sometimes, that good old, "He's with me", is all it takes to get the true friendship balls rolling.
Bob would text me often, starting at times around 0630 and up to say 0830. They usually came in two ways, very complimentary or hot with some friendly ball busting, which I always volleyed back with the utmost respect and love. But then there were those texts or calls where he had to do what only Bob could do, once, and that was to guide you, or, set your straight. And when that happened I never
defended my position because I knew the source, knew he knew better than me, and always was right. The above was a quick one text lesson when I was going down a rabbit hole that he didn't think I should, because he was protecting me from myself. But the texts I remember were mostly like, "Your daughters are beautiful", "Try this next time (either on the beach or at the vice)", and the best, "I am so proud of you".
Tom Lynch photo So when I think of Bob and how great of a man he was I have to ask myself why. What made him such a great man. Some men have great minds, or a big heart, or talents with their hands. Well Bob had all of that. He was the total package. Bob had the great mind, he had the big heart, and the things those hands have done, but on top of all of that he was loved by all of the people he touched. I've never met anyone who had a bad thing to say about him, and that says a lot about a man.
Bob's mind. What can I say? When it comes to saltwater fly tying could there ever be another? I know how great he was because when I put into practice those things that make me a decent fly tier and fly fisherman he has guided me in all of those things. From casting, to tying, to watching, and even catching I take those things he has gifted to us all each and every time I fish. Even when I'm throwing a non-Popovic fly, like say a Snake Fly, his contributions on how to read, learn, and fish waters is always engrained in my mind and put into practice. His ability to formulate a plan to put the Atlantic Saltwater Flyrodder's into existence and maintain it, with the help of other like minded people, is a testament to his insight and inspiration. His knowledge of the restaurant business, which he gives all credit to Alexis, comes from being a student of his families restaurants going back to Trenton and then Bayville. His ability to figure out those stupid roses and nuture and grow them into what they have become is legendary in its own right. And the reason I say stupid roses is because our trips to Martha's Vineyard depended on how the roses were doing leading into my much anticipated week away with him. Too much spring rain or a drought meant he had to be there for extra Edward Scizzorhands roses love.
Bobs heart. Again, outside of his family first. I have come to learn of Bob and Bob's love of things over the years. It started way back to his days playing baseball in Trenton where he was, not only a tank of a young man, but a stud on the mound and at the plate. But not only did he love the game, he loved those he played the game with. I was there when Delaware Joe and Bob reminisced about those championship games in the Capital City and what they meant to the residents of the neighborhoods back in the day. Bob then gave his heart and body to service in the United States Marine Corp. Bob also brought Corp and Country into everything he did, from the name of his Fleyes, to the stickers on his car, to the flags that he flew, to the caps on his head. Bob was a true Marine and a true American. Bob also loved cats. I'm not a cat guy, but always acted interested when he introduced me to the ones at his home or at The Shady. "I get it Bob, nice cat". And the roses, not only do you have to know how to do the roses, but you have to love them, and he did. But in a Bob way, did he do it for himself? Or was it more for the joy and the experience of those who would drive down Route 9 or sit outside and see and smell them while dining. Bob was a devout Rangers fan and I've sat with him at Klee's second fiddle to the action that was on the television at the bar. When he loved something, or someone, he let you know about it. And if he didn't, he quietly let you know that as well. And The Shady Rest? Wow. Jersey Shore landmark. He and Alexis have owned it for 60 years. They've done it with the help of family, and well more family, because they considered those that worked there deserved of that inclusion. I may have popped in and out of there but there are people who have been going there for their entire lives, and have turned The Rest over to their kids, and now their kids kids. He never stopped thinking of others, from their mental to their physical health, and always asked with sincerity about how someone, or how someone in their family or knew, were doing.
Bob's hands. And to complete the package are Bob's hands. I, and those who know him as a fly tyer and fisherman, know his hands were the extension of his great mind. You can come up with all the ideas you want but you have to be able to put the idea into practice, and no one did it better than Bob. I felt bad over the last two years when I would hear Bob state that he hadn't been tying, or couldn't, because his hands were starting get tired. What those hands have done. From throwing balls, to loading riffles, to making those Trenton Tomato Pies, shucking the clams, to pruning the roses, releasing the fish, the tender embraces, and the million handshakes, yes, his hands were getting tired. What I remember about his hands was how he talked with them. I loved when he would talk casting with his hands. He would give you that little extra with the pointer finger on his right hand, and it would be his way of communicating his point or technique to you. I think those who had been around him would agree they felt safer when those hands were around.
And then there's the above picture. One of my favorite. I was down in Florida sitting on my Mother's lanai when I got the news of Bob's passing. I knew it was coming but it's always a little offsetting when it actually does. I talked about Bob. I talked about the above picture. I said to my Mom that if I had to piece together a photo collage of the high points of my life it would have to include that one. I don't know if there are many pictures where I look so happy, and good, in any one moment. I'm not talking kids or family stuff, but camaraderie between men type of happy. Bob made that possible. He was the one who okayed me joining the Martha's Vineyard gang on their annual trek up to the Vineyard. It had been going on for decades and as guys came and went others filled in. I was lucky to catch those trips as they tailed off. Guys got older, joints got tighter, backs a little sorer, and the waders, well, a little harder to get into. All of those men are good men, with Bob the soft-spoken leader.
Bob has touched so many people around the entire world. He has influenced and inspired us all to be better, and do better. There will be those that come after him, maybe even tie a Beast "better" than him (No disrespect there), but there will never be someone who helped guide us to grow and be better to a sport, each other, and in the end ourselves, better than him.
RIP my friend, Bob Popovics, dead to soon at age 75.
