In Memoriam Robert Michael Guido

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Saturday, November 28, 2015

St. Brendan Catholic Church, Olcott Beach, New York

Good morning and thank you for joining in this celebration of the life of Robert Michael Guido—brother, husband, father, grandfather, great-grandfather, friend, proud denizen of Olcott Beach. Oh, how he loved this community; and, oh, how you all loved him back.

Jesus said: do not hide your light, but let it shine before others. We are gathered here today because we had the good fortune to spend time in the grand, glowing, glorious light that was Bob Guido and that he shared with the world.

And what a light it was: that sly, mischievous smile; that husky, quiet laugh; those big arms and that bigger personality and that even bigger heart that drew you in. There was only one Bob Guido. A skilled fisherman; an avid reader; an artist; a terrific storyteller; a dancer who could swing Sally all around the dance floor; a guy who relished good food and who liked his martinis with about one-hundred olives in them; a man so resilient we had almost come to think of him as indestructible.  

For those of you I have not met, my name is Len Niehoff and I am married to Bob and Sally’s daughter Lisa. I have the honor of sharing a few thoughts with you this morning as we remember and give thanks for Bob’s life. Indeed, I can think of no better time to honor Bob than during this season of thankfulness.

Every life offers its own lessons and I’m sure each of us could come up with a very long list of things that we learned from Bob. But, for today, I want to focus on three lessons that I see as particularly present in Bob’s life. They also happen to resonate strongly with some of the most important messages of the scriptures.

Those lessons are: welcome people in; shepherd your flock; and fight the good fight.

Welcome People In

When I first met Bob, Lisa and I were not yet married. I will confess that I was a little nervous. It seemed unlikely to me that this Italian guy from New York State had long dreamed that his beautiful daughter would fall in love with a middle-aged German guy from Michigan. 

I found Bob on the back deck of their house and he was a bit daunting. Here was this big bear of a man, dressed in shorts and a sleeveless t-shirt , wearing sunglasses, smoking a cigarette and pushing a pile of sausages, peppers, and onions around on the grill. He cut an imposing figure.

Lisa introduced me and he smiled and said hello and offered me a drink. And that was that. I was in. I had been welcomed into Bob’s flock.

I suspect that many people in this room had an experience like this. It took only an instant for Bob to move you from being a stranger to being an old friend. It was a gift—a grace—of the first order, one that he shared with his treasured wife, Sally. Throughout their marriage, they welcomed everyone in, always, and never treated a visitor as a burden or an imposition. 

In the thirteenth chapter of his letter to the Hebrews, Paul says “Do not forget to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing so some have entertained angels without knowing it.” When we were talking about her experience “growing up Guido,” Lisa told me that throughout her life there were almost always visitors at the dinner table: neighbors, friends, relatives, newcomers to the community, members of clubs and organizations, all the childhood friends of Lisa and Gina and Rob and Joe who knew that Bob and Sally were the coolest parents in town, and so on.

Maybe most of those folks did not qualify as angels. But you would never know that from the way Bob and Sally treated them. Bob saw the best in everyone, and, because of the great symmetrical power of love and respect, everyone saw the best in Bob.

Shepherd Your Flock

In the first letter of Peter it says: “Care for the flock that God has entrusted to you, watching over them; and do not do it for your own gain, but out of an eagerness to serve.” I think this is a perfect description of one of the key dimensions of Bob’s life.

Bob was born in 1940 in North Tonawanda, New York. He spent the next seventy-five years bringing people into his flock, watching out for them, and helping them along. He had a wonderful role model in his beloved late mother, Elizabeth Amici Guido Amato, who on November 10 met him on the other side with open arms—and probably with a plate of meatballs—and with whom he is now reunited.

As with his mother, the most important members of Bob’s flock were his family. He cherished his relationship with his siblings, Al, Mike, John, and Teddy. He adored his wife Sally, often doting on her as if they were newlyweds. His affection for his children, grandchildren, and great-grandson was boundless. 

Whenever I would drive Lisa home for a visit, we would find Bob sitting in a folding chair next to the driveway or in the garage with the door open if it was raining. It was as reliable as the law of gravity: Bob would be there—waiting, watching, keeping an eye out for someone he loved. Like all good shepherds, Bob was always on the lookout for all of us, and we were all blessed by it.

But Bob’s flock extended well beyond his family. He cared deeply for his friends in the Lion’s Club and for all of the volunteers he worked with on the Olcott Beach Carousel Park and the Rainbow of Help. Through these service organizations, Bob’s generosity of spirit extended to people he did not even know.

Bob’s flock also included the Boy Scout troops he led. After Bob’s passing, the family received a number of messages from men who had been in those troops many years ago. A message from one of these former scouts describes the numerous ways in which being in Bob’s troop had made him a better man, including giving him a model of how to be a great father. 

You might remember some of the qualities a scout is supposed to exhibit: loyalty, friendliness, kindness, and cheerfulness. Bob may have helped those young men cultivate those qualities by what he said. But I suspect that their true lessons came in what Bob did, in how he treated them, and in who he was.

I want to say two more things about being in Bob’s flock. First, it was fun. As just one example, Lisa has described to me how Bob and Sal would take the kids on “mystery adventure caravans”—little trips to undisclosed and entertaining destinations. And, of course, for many of us being in Bob’s flock meant fishing with him, which was a tremendous joy, even though he would consistently out-fish you and he was not above a bit of extravagant gloating when he did.

Second, as I mentioned earlier, the fact that Bob cared so much about his flock did not prevent him from also working to help people he did not know. But I think it is important to emphasize how strong an impulse this was in him. It led him to his military service. And consider this: on one occasion, a number of years ago, Bob rushed from his house to pull two complete strangers from a burning car that had been in an accident—a courageous act that very likely put him in harm’s way. 

Perhaps the word “hero” gets overused. But if Bob Guido is one of your heroes you will get no argument from me.

And that brings me to the third and final lesson from Bob’s life.

Fight the Good Fight

In his second letter to Timothy, Paul says: “I have fought the good fight; I have finished the race.” As all of you know, Bob struggled with grave physical challenges for more than a decade. He fought the good fight, hanging on as long as he could to the life that he lived with such zeal and the people that he he loved with such depth and gratitude. That fight took unspeakable amounts of courage—on Bob’s part, and also on the part of Sally and their children.

Of course, Bob was human and so could get frustrated with his struggles. And the same God that made Bob a wonderful man also made him wonderfully stubborn—and that could pose its own challenges. So he had his bad days. But it is a testament to Bob’s character that nothing in the last ten years—nothing—kept his spirit down for long. He fought the good fight, and he won many more rounds than he lost.

When a big, warm, welcoming, shepherding, courageous presence leaves this life for the next, the absence is sorely felt. We will all miss Bob, every day. But, every day, we will also feel his presence—when we welcome someone in; when we give someone a hand; when we stoop to help a child; when we deal bravely with the challenges life presents to us.

We did not all have the chance to “grow up Guido.” But we all have the chance to show up and step up like Bob Guido would want us to—for those who come to our doorstep; for our family and friends; for everyone in all the flocks that God puts in our care; for those in need; for strangers who we will not let stay strangers for very long.

And know this: we are all still in Bob’s flock. He’s still watching out for us. When we have finished fighting our good fight he will still be there, waiting like he did in that old folding chair in the driveway, ready to welcome us to the new neighborhood and to show us around.

As I said at the beginning, Bob let his light shine for everyone to see. His light “shines still in the darkness.” It is an inextinguishable presence in our hearts and minds and memories. For all of us who were blessed to know him and to stand in the warmth and comfort of that light, no darkness can ever overcome it. 

Not today. 

Not ever. 

Amen. And amen.