Robert Keating Jandl

Robert Keating Jandl was born in Racine, WI, on June 12th, 1926. He died at the marvelous age of 98 on July 17th, 2024. His last few years weren’t exactly marvelous, but he lived his life with incredible enthusiasm: another lifetime wouldn’t be enough to satiate his passions.

Two events in his youth influenced his entire life: as a precocious early teen climbing on a quarry wall, he fell and was crushed by a falling rock and as an 18-year-old he was drafted into WWII directly out of high school. The injuries from the first weren’t bad enough to prevent him from participating in the second, but both experiences left an indelible mark. He studied the history of the war and would talk at length to any willing or unwilling ear, but rarely about combat. He was in preparation to make the first landing on the Japanese mainland with MacArthur when he fell ill with meningitis, a direct result of the quarry injuries. After many months in multiple hospitals, he was discharged long after most troops were already home.

He promptly married his high school sweetheart, La Verne Johnson, and they did their part in creating the baby boom. They quickly shoehorned a family of six into a tiny house and began to live the American dream. He was home every night at 6:15 and she had supper on the table at 6:30. They provided for everything a family needed, but often there wasn’t enough to satisfy the wants of four children. Having been born during the Great Depression, frugality was a personal trait that would reap rewards later in life when they could live comfortably, and long.

Reflections of his son, Steve:

There are many things that he was, and some things that he wasn’t. He wasn’t a doting or nurturing husband or father, but he was a good solid partner and a father that was always home, and always there for you. He would never remember your birthday, but when in need he would be the first to step in. He spent weeks renovating and painting an old bike that would become my first. When neighborhood kids mocked my used bike, he immediately took me to the bike store and had me pick one out - brand new.

He was always positive, and almost charming, out in the world, drawing people to him and being loved by even casual acquaintances. We who knew his sterner side were generally in awe of his ‘rock star’ status. But he also struggled with self-doubt, often not feeling up to the task. In advance of particular event, he would analyze in his mind, and aloud to me, long and complex speculations on human motivations and negotiating strategies. I was often let down by the actual simplicity of getting a fender fixed or the purchase of a used outboard motor.

He was a curious man, always trying to figure out how everything worked, always believing that no matter how complex, there was a solution if he could only wrestle it out. He lived for projects and every project was an obsession. Recipes would run 10 or more pages with the most minute details fully defined. Annual vacation packing was completely orchestrated: every box was labeled and assigned specific content, every component in each box had a designated place, the car was mapped out with the location and orientation of every box. The only variable was where the fighting kids would negotiate or conquer position in the few remaining spaces.

And he was a creative man, blending his professional expertise into his very creative rendering of nature into jewelry. His gold cast leaves are a treasure to anybody receiving one and the rings he created are on many fingers or in many jewelry boxes. I uncovered nearly fifty leaves he had molded in preparation for casting. Another obsession, in its time.

I learned early on that one of the only ways into his world was to become his assistant/gopher/apprentice in all of his invention and repair projects. And it was endless! I realize now that because I was willing to step into that world, I have been indelibly imprinted with his innate curiosity. It has formed my life. He opened doors for me into constantly learning new things and he taught me the courage to attempt things completely unknown. He didn’t have the training nor the mentoring to take on such tasks, only the belief that he could figure it out.

He wasn’t a cheerleader, nor an ego booster, but a single word of praise from him meant the world, and a single rebuke could take the world away. There were both growing up as his son, which left a young soul in a purgatory of uncertainty about self-worth. He inherited a magnitude greater of the same and was committed to being a better father. He was so much better! ….. but he would inevitably pass some on. But his intent to be better was passed along, too. Children flawed by abuse beget abusive children unless they renounce and improve. This man did all he could to minimize that legacy and generations of children will be better because of his insistence to be a better father. What more can we ask from a man?

His body is gone and who knows where his soul, but he continues to live in everybody he touched, either casually or deeply. I am my father, but a slightly improved version. He taught me that.

Reflections of his daughter, Diane:

Bob loved his dogs, and he had many. No matter how ill-behaved they were or strong willed, he loved them all the same. He honored dogs by rescuing them, then spoiling the hell out of them.

He was the kind of person who drew people in. He never lost his childlike spirit and enthusiasm for life.

I took many road trips with him and discovered he was up for just about anything, from driving a snow machine in minus 22-degree cold in Nome, Alaska, to walking the Las Vegas strip in 90-degree heat. He was fun, had a great sense of humor, loved a good prank, and was always more than willing to keep pressing on.

His interests and talents were vast and varied. No handyman challenge was too great as he never stopped learning, never stop innovating, and was way too stubborn to hire out.

Over the last few years of Bob’s life, his independence was slowly stripped away. He handled it with unimaginable grace and tolerance. His brother would always say, “He’s quite a guy.” A family treasure. I cherished him as a father, friend, and mentor. He will forever be an inspiration.

Bob's son, Rick, is comforted in knowing his father is now in a better place.