I remember vividly a day in the early 1990s when Bob came to visit me in
my office. I don't recall what led to the visit, but we were facing a
somewhat outdated Zenith 386 PC and talking about computers. He did not
yet have a computer of his own but was clearly getting interested. Knowing
that Bob had sustained an injury to his hands, I offered that there were
special input devices that he might like to use better than the Zenith
keyboard on my desk, and that with these the computer might be a more
effective writing tool than the pen. In the course of the conversation I
learned that Bob was quite skilled in using his hands for tasks not often
associated with mathematicians: operating a farm tractor, building a barn
and servicing a 19th century wood stove. I soon realized that my
suggestion was naively motivated and perhaps misguided: Bob was every bit
as capable of using a keyboard as I was, if not more so. But he was not
put-off. We started to talk about computers in general and soon arranged
to meet in a local store where Bob would customize and take home a PC. He
was the first in Wycombe to have a 486 machine!

Starting with OS2 software and SCSI (read: SCUZZI) hardware we established
an ongoing conversation about computers and ramafications which continued
year after year. Though Bob was always very modest about his learning
ability, knowledge and experience, in fact, he would go from zero to
expert in no time. Weeks, or even days after being introduced to a PC he
knew its features to fine detail. In several cases I would bring up a new
topic for Bob, and soon thereafter I would be learning about it from him.
While initially unintended, this worked so well that I began to think of
an algorithm every time there was something new to be learned: if you want
to know more about X, first get Bob interested in X and then have him
teach it to you.

If someone were to draw a Department of Mathematics, Temple University
view of the world, in analogy with the famous New Yorker cover, then Bob's
house would probably be placed somewhere in the hyperplane at infinity. I
remember the first time I drove to Forest Grove road. We were going to a
Department party which he hosted, and following a long directions document
through twisting country roads. (This was some time before MAPQUEST.COM
went online.) I was very impressed with the rustic setting, the river,
bridge, old train station, field, barn, blueberry bushes, adjoining goose
sanctuary, and more. I was particularly impressed to learn that Bob built
the barn himself. I hear that day trippers from New York CIty are so taken
by the sight that they knock on the door and ask if they can rent this
colonial era farm house for the summer.

Soon I learned the way to Wycombe very well. In the mid 1990s I started a
series of commutes, first to central New Jersey, then to New York, and
after that to Boston. For any of these destinations, Bob's house was on
the way, or on the way back, sort of. On a regular basis we would get
together and catch up on what we had been doing, usually in front of a
computer, and often fortified with delicious treats provided by Muriel.
Given the distance between meetings, both geometric and temporal, our
chats would last well into the night. In winter, the computer operations
were sometimes interrupted by service calls to the wood stove on the other
side of the room. The stove was just another peripheral device. Driving
afterwards challenged my abilities to stay awake and negotiate dark
winding country roads. Sometimes the roles would be reversed and Bob would
visit me. There was one important difference: when in my place we had to
order out at the Imperial Gourmet (one of my favorite local places which
became Bob's favorite too).  We were two of a diminishing breed of users
of the OS2 operating system. (For better or for worse, your last airline
ticket and bank statement may have both been produced by OS2.) By
coincidence, the Greater Philadelphia OS2 User Society had its meetings
just down the street from my house, and this gave us another occasion to
get together.

Bob told me that he rediscovered art through computers. A quick stroll
through the Gordons' house shows that artists live there. Though he always
had an interest in art, this interest was renewed with vigor after he got
an internet connection. We would often gaze at the beautiful monitor which
he had chosen with care and we would review the latest electronic
reproduction of an art treasure. He was always generous in sharing results
of hours of laborious investigations when he searched and compared online
art, finding the best available presentations of notable works.

Bob was an accomplished musician. In his teens he was on the composer
track, though he later opted for a career in mathematics. But he
maintained his interest in music and had a substantial collection of vinyl
records. With the advent of the information age in Wycombe, Bob set up his
computer to handle music at a high level of fidelity. As with art, he
meticulously compared performances available on electronic media,
especially piano pieces, until he isolated the best ones, and then
generously offered the results of his investigations freely. The
simultaneous appreciation of art and music on Bob's workstation was truly
dramatic and is worthy of reproduction.

In pursuing his newly cultivated computer interests, Bob tested the limits
of enduser technology. For instance, in order to play classical music on
the computer at a high level of quality, he acquired one of the latest,
largest, fastest scsi(read: SCUZZI) disk drives. Installing the device
presented some difficulties which required contacting the manufacturer.
The head engineer decided to modify the design of the main data cable
after learning of Bob's observations. In the same vein, Bob began to use a
graphics tablet which he found preferable to a mouse, and his experience
with setting up the device influenced the main software developers for
this device.

I visited Bob one day after he had been hospitalized. Though confined to
an intensive care unit, he was sharp, alert, and in good spirits. He gave
me an update on his situation, displaying a keen awareness of the medical
issues involved. He had consulted with experts, gathered a database
(purely mental in this case) of facts, figures and options relevant to his
case, and made comparisons when possible.  Clearly, he had caught up with
his doctors and knew all that medicine could offer him with certainty, and
all that was still not yet understood by the profession. One aspect of
doctor-patient relations was of paramount importance to Bob: honesty.  He
made it clear to his physicians that he expected full disclosure. Good
news or bad, he wanted to know thefacts.

When his diagnosis was ambiguous he sought the advice of a childhood
friend, now a world class medical authority. Bob's follow-up discussion
with his local doctors gave them some new insights. Talking with him, I
was reminded of how he learned everything about computers so quickly. This
was the same Bob. He hadn't changed a bit.

Robert, as his family calls him, was a well known and highly respected
mathematician. Recently I returned from a visit to a Belgian University.
There I met a student who just defended his thesis in category theory. I
mentioned to him that Temple University has a category theorist on the
faculty.  "Bob Gordon, of course", replied the student, "he is doing very
important work with Ross Street and also with John Power". Given the speed
and skill with which he gained expertise in computers, I regret not
learning from him more about his mathematics.

Bob was a friend, a buddy and a colleague. He was warm, generous, and
bright. He had a passion for exploring and learning new ideas, and he was
always eager to share insights that he so quickly grasped. I always looked
forward to our meetings and conversations, where we caught up on thoughts,
ideas and experiences. His untimely departure creates a great void. I will
miss him terribly.