Remembering a big brother and his big influence

This is going to be a bit up-close-and personal. For the first time in my life, I am without my big brother. Robert Earl Yarbrough, Jr. passed away and it feels surreal. He has always been there. Had he not, I probably wouldn’t be here today. He was not my big brother by size. He was big by his influence in my life. He was like an extra parent.

Bob was a generation older, which tells you my arrival was likely not a planned event. When I started grammar school, he was finishing high school. When I graduated high school, he had already graduated college, was married and had a child. What could we possibly have in common other than the same last name? The answer is complicated. He was a role model that I spent years trying to emulate. It wasn’t always easy, and I didn’t do it well at times.

There was no question in anyone’s mind that Bob was going to be successful. He was buttoned down from the start. Quiet. Disciplined. I was the bratty little brother who once hid in the backseat when he took his squeeze to the drive-in. He wasn’t happy. He was even less happy when I pulled the same stunt as he headed off to Florida with his buddies.

However, he was forgiving enough that when I got written reprimands from teachers that my parents were supposed to see and sign, I could talk him into signing because his handwriting was identical to our mother’s. It required a lecture that I not do it again. We both knew that wasn’t going to happen. Just sign the note, please.

It was a bit of a surprise when Bob announced he going to college. Our parents, growing up in the rural South, never got beyond the 7th grade. Our cousins on both sides of the family, with one exception, did not go to college. Some never even finished high school.

It was a turning point in my life, as well. As I mentioned, he was my role model. Anything he did, I was going to do. Graduating from the University of Georgia is one of the seminal events in my life, but it never would have happened had he not graduated from there himself. Had he chosen to become a mechanic, I would have been changing points and plugs in Ford Fairlanes as soon as I was out of high school.

Bob joined the magazine publishing business in the mailroom while in high school and – no surprise – worked his way up to executive vice president of the company. In the meantime, I spent a few years in broadcasting before joining Southern Bell, determined to work my own way up the corporate ladder. It became a competition, at least on my part, and brought with it some tension.

As spokesman for the company, my name and face were in the media frequently. That was not always a good thing. Sometimes, I was trying to explain a corporate gaffe. But, nonetheless, his little brother was high profile, and I think he got tired of hearing about it.

Bob moved to Chicago and became president of a trade magazine company there. I went off to Washington as a public affairs director for AT& T and later became an officer of Bell-South.

He retired and moved to Gainesville to be close to his two daughters and their families. He became a hospital chaplain and was involved in a ministry that taught financial principles. I moved on to the Atlanta Committee for the Olympic Games and then to churning out these opinions weekly. We stayed in touch nominally, but each in his own orbit.

And then things changed. After Bob lost his soulmate of 69 years, Bebe, and I lost The Beloved Woman Who Shared My Name, we began an occasional phone call to check on each other. That soon turned into a regular Sunday night at 6 PM ritual. We called it the No News call because all we talked about were our aches and pains, our families and how much we hated technology. We dropped all the barriers we had built up over the years. The competition was gone, replaced by brotherly love and mutual respect. A memory I will treasure.

I will miss Bob, but I am glad I got to tell him what an enormous influence he had on my life. I am here because he was there. Thank you, big brother. Rest in peace.

You can reach Dick Yarbrough at dick@dickyarbrough.com or at P.O. Box 725373, Atlanta, Georgia 31139.