He is Campbellton, New Brunswick’s most recognized and talked-about citizen. And it’s been like that for more than half a century.

That’s rather odd because the man has never run for office or had a decent job, let alone a prominent one. He didn’t even finish school. And get this: He has never owned a car or had a driver’s license.

What’s really bizarre is that the man has committed no crimes in his 70-plus years — yet he’s been punished far more than most criminals.

Who is he?? His name is Bobby Steeves.

People in the Northern New Brunswick community of 7,400 know the name. The story they don’t. 

To some extent, it’s my story too. Everyone’s story.

I was six or seven when I first saw Bobby Steeves. The year was 1957 and I was walking down Duncan Street in the west end of Campbellton, headed to my grade one class at the old Roseberry Street School.

Tucked away in my Roy Rogers packsack were some pencils, an eraser, a Hilroy scribbler [with tiny stars from the teachers] — and my Dick and Jane reader.

Like most kids, I didn’t have a care in the world.


Suddenly, there was some major excitement happening. A lad, a few years older than me, was being chased by a bully. The thug — I’ll call him ‘Baboon’  — soon caught up to his prey, Bobby Steeves.

Bobby tripped and fell, landing alongside a picket fence, and that’s where the pursuit ended. The youngster was trapped. He lay on the ground, trembling.

Turtling to shield himself, Bobby screamed and pleaded for mercy. It didn’t work. Baboon towered over his victim and began kicking and raining punches down on him.

I’m not sure what felony Bobby had committed to deserve this; perhaps it was simply because he ran like a girl. The problem, of course, was that Bobby Steeves was different. 

Not only were the kicks and punches non-stop, so too was the vulgar language. Every slam was laced with a profanity. I was just a kid, I know, but I hadn’t seen or heard anything like that before. I was stunned … yet fascinated, like an excited fan at a hockey game when a fight breaks out.

Even though Bobby whimpered and pleaded, the assault continued until his tormentor was exhausted. Mission accomplished, Mr. Tough Guy — beaming from ear to ear — proudly glanced in the direction of a small group of kids who’d seen the whole thing.

I was part of that group.

I was secretly hoping Bobby would get up and start swinging, just like in the old black and white westerns at the Capitol Theatre where the good guy, the one with the white hat, decks the bad guy with the black hat.

But there was no knock-out punch. Not even an attempt. Bobby remained on the ground, sobbing and curled up in a heap.

Nobody came to help. There was no intervention. No protest. Zip. And no sympathy, or so it seemed. Bobby was very much alone.

Sure, you could say that we were just kids and Baboon would have beaten the snot out of us too if we spoke up. Maybe. But maybe not. Before I walked into class that day, I’d learned a valuable lesson: How the silent majority behaves.

The unprovoked assault on an innocent child left me feeling cheap. Sixty years later, I am humbled to say, it still gnaws at me.


Bobby Steeves was guilty of the crime of being different. He was — what we jokingly referred to in the day — a queer. Homo. We could easily toss in another 10 or 20 descriptors, including ‘easy target.’

Someone once found Bobby shaking like a leaf in a canoe, of all things, hiding out from someone who wanted to pound the living daylights out of him.

Another thing. Bobby wasn’t bright. He was — in PC parlance — ‘mentally-challenged’ which made his journey in life that much more hellish.

Maybe every community has a Bobby Steeves, I don’t know.

When I turned 18, I pulled out of Campbellton with a suitcase of new clothes and old memories, mostly good ones. However, I could never delete from that hard drive on my shoulders the beating Bobby Steeves took that day. I tried to make sense of it but couldn’t.

The months and years would morph into a decade before I finally ‘worked out’ who Bobby really was. He was gay. He wasn’t heterosexual, like me. Like most of us. That was strike one. Bobby was also simple. Strike two. Boom.

I’m sure the good folk of Campbellton never thought of Bobby Steeves as a victim of a hate crime, but he was. And yes, of course, “the world was a different place then.” But even so …


From time to time I returned to Campbellton, sometimes spotting Bobby doing his Forrest Gump thing and by that, I mean walking and running here and there.

The man was always alone. Can’t say I ever saw him with a friend.

People driving by often called out his name. “Bobby!” they’d shout and lay on the horn. Like a trained seal, Bobby would turn, wave and smile like the sun. A fun time for all. The guys, especially, seemed to enjoy teasing Bobby … and perhaps Bobby didn’t mind all the attention, I’m not sure.

The Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms? Never heard of it.

And what did I do about this abuse? Zip. Let’s be honest here. I wasn’t part of the solution; I was part of the problem.

Mind you, back then that “small-town mentality” was very much alive and well in places like Campbellton. I’m talking about views on sexuality, religion, old grudges, etc. I raise the point because it’s not purely an ‘age’ thing but where one is raised as well.

I made no effort to sit down and talk with Bobby Steeves … although as I got older — dare I say wiser — I thought it would be a good idea to get his thoughts on life and meaningful stuff like that.

In late August 2016, I was back in town and figured I’d get around to see Mr. Steeves. I discovered he had a basement suite in what used to be his small family home at the west end of Lansdowne Street.

Someone pointed out to me where Bobby lived, and so I knocked on a paint-blistered side door. No answer. I put my ear to the door hoping to hear something, perhaps somebody inside. The only sound was a dog barking.



I returned a few days later. I knocked. This time, the man I was looking for was at home. “Who is it?” a voice called out.

I opened the door slightly, announced who I was … and said that I was coming in. When I got to the bottom of the stairs, Bobby Steeves was standing to my right. His puzzled look signaled that he had no idea who I was and why I was there.

We shook hands. I jokingly said I had good news and bad news … the good news was that I was not a Jehovah Witness; the bad news was that I was a reporter. Don’t think he got it.

What Bobby did get, however, was my business card.

“I saw you a long time ago,” I remarked, hoping to grab his attention, “… but it wasn’t pretty. You were beaten up by Baboon.”

“Remember him?”

While Bobby studied my card, I continued my trip down Memory Lane without waiting for an answer. “Do you recall that day, Bobby? You were attacked alongside a wooden fence, not far from here.” “Yes,” came a near-whisper reply, Bobby’s eyes darting back and forth as he tried to work out where this was going.

Bobby interrupted my story to reveal his attacker’s real name, adding he thought he’d moved away from Campbellton after the police warned him “if he ever attacked Bobby again, he’d go to jail!” Mr. Steeves drove the point home by wagging his finger at me.

“Whatever happened to that son-of-a-bitch?” I asked. The answer: “He moved to Ontario and got married … I think he had children.” “I wonder if they turned out to be assholes,” I countered. “I don’t know,” Bobby replied … his voice trailing, suggesting it was time to change the subject. Memory Lane, to some, has some huge potholes.

“What’s the name of your roommate?” I asked, motioning my head toward a small mutt that couldn’t sit still. “Pitou,” he said. “He’s a nice puppy.”

Pitou is a classic French name for a dog that roughly translates into ‘cute little puppy.’


The dog was loyal to Bobby but he jumped all over the place. I asked Bobby to hold him steady so I could take this photo.


New Brunswick has more than its share of Rhodes scholars, but Bobby’s tormentor sure wasn’t one of them. Baboon could barely read and write — and “according to unconfirmed reports” — he once got someone to prominently print ‘Hells Angels’ on the back of one of his proud possessions, a black leather jacket.

Baboon was later stopped by police and asked why he wore apparel like that. He quickly explained that he didn’t really belong to the Hells Angels. “That’s not the problem,” said the officer, “why are you wearing a jacket that says FUCK OFF?”

I don’t know if that story is true or if it’s another ‘urban legend.’ No matter. It’s now part of Campbellton folklore.

Bobby and his tormentor had one thing in common. They were both simple. However, one was violent; the other harmless.

As Michael Landry put it, Bobby Steeves was the bravest man to walk the streets of Campbellton.


About 10 years ago I got word from a good friend that Bobby’s mother, Annie, had died and that she had loved her son dearly. That touched me, as real love usually does.

Someone recently shared with me that Bobby often visits his mother’s grave at the Campbellton Rural Cemetery, at the far west end of Duncan Street.

That hit me again.

Bobby and I talked about this and so I asked, “Would you care to show me her grave?” He agreed. He was pleasantly surprised I took an interest in something that was dear to him.

Bobby kept kept his word. I dropped by his house one morning and said, “let’s go to the cemetery.” Campbellton being Campbellton, the graveyard was only a few minutes’ drive away.

Once our seat-belts went click, I did a U-turn and we were off to the races. “Nice car,” he said.



The grave of Annie [Flannagan] Steeves [1910-2003], in the far southeast corner of the cemetery, was covered with flowers. No other plot in the cemetery had as many.

The flowers were synthetic. Fake. However, Bobby’s love for the woman who raised him and stood by him through all his pain was anything but fake.

I walked up to the plot with Bobby by my side. “Was it you who got these beautiful flowers?” I asked. “Yes,” he said, glancing my way. “Did the flowers, by chance, come from other graves?”

Perhaps it was out of place to ask, but I did anyway. Bobby ducked the question. He rubbed his chin and said, “My, she was wonderful! … just wonderful!”

That she was, Mr. Steeves. I can’t begin to fathom the stress and sorrow that poor lady went through.

“She loved you dearly, didn’t she?” Bobby nodded again, this time in silence, his eyes fixed on a small, grey speckled tombstone. At this point, I figured he might open up and say something. But no, not a word. I understood. People can still say plenty even when they say nothing.

Bobby leaned over and began brushing grass clippings off the base of the tombstone. A simple grave in a far corner of the cemetry had been transformed into a private shrine, and I sensed that Bobby wanted things to be ‘just so.’



We then went for breakfast, Bobby and I. We got back in the rental and drove to the sleepy community of Tide Head, just west of Campbellton, pulling up at one of my favourite dining spots — the Sanfar Restaurant.

It’s here where owner and friend Dave Richards, with two plasticized menus in hand, escorted Bobby Steeves and me to a table in the corner of a back room.

It was quiet there. Private. We could talk without anyone listening in.


Sanfar Resort and Restaurant, Tide Head, New Brunswick. That’s the nice car in the lot … click on the photo to enlarge.


Bobby Steeves was mentally challenged but he had excellent table manners. He also knew how to say thank you.

Bobby ate everything on his plate, and they serve big helpings at Sanfar. I got off a few things off my plate as well … I had some questions, but one in particular made Bobby uncomfortable. “You’re gay, aren’t you?” He looked up, stopped eating, waited a few seconds and announced, “Yes.” Bobby’s eyes never left mine, a clear signal his sexual orientation was none of my business.

Getting back to the decades-old attack by Baboon, I remarked, breaking the silence, “… what did your Mom say about those who attacked you?” “She told me,” Bobby offered, “not to mind them …”

How it must have broken Mrs. Steeves’ heart to see her boy crying and bloodied when he hadn’t done anything wrong. She must have thought, where’s the justice here?

I wondered too about how other family members handled this “situation.” They must have struggled with it as well. A burden for all.

Don’t let anyone tell you the 1950s were always Happy Days.

A lot has changed however in half a century … including our views on those who don’t fit in. Bobby Steeves is no longer hunted down and turned into a human punching bag. For the most part, those catcalls have also ended.

Today the people of Campbellton not only accept Bobby — now a senior — they also treat him well. They’ll share a coffee with the man and if the weather is bad — even if it’s not — they’ll give him a lift. They’ve now rallied behind him.

“He’s harmless,” a cousin pointed out.

I’m not around Campbellton a lot [I live in Alberta] so I don’t see Bobby much but I gotta say, he’s sometimes on my mind, perhaps more than I care to admit.

Over the years, I have come across situations where people have been wronged and I’ve had a chance to put the truth out there. As in ‘do the right thing.’ Shine a light, etc. Sometimes my mind will replay the attack on Bobby, him on the ground squirming, the blows landing in slow motion — and a little voice in my head says, Stand up, for Christ sakes! Don’t let this be another ‘Bobby Steeves moment’ where you keep your mouth shut.

‘Baboon’s’ assault on Bobby Steeves is more than a bad memory. It’s a curse. In a strange twist, it has made me a better person, certainly a better reporter. I don’t mind sharing that with you.


Earlier this year, during civic election night in New Brunswick, one of the candidates running for office in Campbellton spotted Bobby Steeves at her elections office and she gave him a lift home. The side-trip meant a little less time with her family on this, the biggest day of her career, but so be it. It was important to her that Bobby got home safe.

That night, Stephanie Anglehart-Paulin became Campbellton’s first female mayor.

Mayor Stephanie.png

I believe that a good number of angels — both in Campbellton and in that “Better Place” — have been looking out for Bobby, and I suspect they have put in some overtime too. Good for them. If I get to Heaven I’ll buy ’em a beer.

I told Bobby I was bothered about what happened a long time ago. I also shared that I knew he’d been persecuted for no other reason than he was different. Unlike other homosexuals in Campbellton, Bobby didn’t have the smarts to conceal who he was, nor did his family have the resources to keep his secret a secret.

“What do you have to say about those who mercilessly targetted you?” I asked. I was now giving Bobby — a true survivor — an opportunity to unload on the Baboons and others who had made his life a living hell. Here was his chance to tell them how he really felt …

Bobby paused. I waited. Then came his answer, and what he had to say threw me. “These are nice people,” he said, in reference to the men and women of Campbellton. “Nice people,” adding, “I have lots of friends …”

Finally. That knock-out punch.


A follow-up: There’s been a positive response to the article on Bobby Steeves … it now has more than 11,500 views. No other story on my blog has ever gotten off to a start like that.

Most of the readers are from Canada, of course, but the article has also been read by people in more than three dozen countries. Bobby’s story is touching folk around the world, as it should.

The number of sincere [and let’s face it, courageous] comments on the blog site alone number 60-plus, most ever. Then there’s Facebook with 400 shares, plus more than 100 comments. All in all, quite a show of support for a man who’d been shunned for his entire life.

Carolyn Price of Halifax and an anonymous friend in Campbellton teamed up to have a “Flowers for Bobby” box at the Customer Service counter at Sobeys [grocery store] in Campbellton. People can now make donations so that Bobby can buy flowers, real or otherwise.

Screen Shot 2016-11-08 at 9.27.13 AM.png

Screen Shot 2016-11-09 at 7.46.31 AM.pngThe Bobby Steeves story is much more than a yarn about bullying and being different, both timely topics on their own. It’s also a story of love, forgiveness, understanding … and, I suppose, redemption.

Makes me want to say that the Big Guy upstairs works in mysterious ways. I owe Him a beer too.


For those who’d like to get in touch with Bobby Steeves, his snail-mail address is: Basement Suite, 168 Lansdowne Street, Campbellton, New Brunswick E3N 2M9 CANADA.

Bobby was born on 29 June 1944 [source: birth certificate], so if birthday cards are your thing, there you go.

Note that Mr. Steeves does not have access to the Internet, nor does he have a computer. – Editor

70 thoughts on “The Knock-Out Punch

  1. Thank you for your article … nicely written!!

    I am so happy you took the time to share Bobby’s story with everyone.

    I hope more people do like you and make an effort to treat him with respect and kindness if they do happen to cross his path. Sometimes a free coffee, free meal, a Walmart gift card … or even just a ride somewhere makes a huge difference in someone’s life.

    I feel inspired by your article and I will take the time this year to start working on a Christmas basket for him.I will keep it in my car until I spot him in town and I encourage everyone to do the same.

    Imagine what would happen if everyone started this as a new trend!!??

    Together, we can make this Christmas for him a magical one.

    Thanks for sharing his life journey. Cheers!!


  2. Very heartwarming! When I was a teenager, Bobby and his family moved in the side apartment in the house we lived in on SugarLoaf Street. My mother and father had great respect for Bobby … and especially my father Pat O’Connell would get very upset if he saw anyone being mean or calling Bobby names. My Mother — known as Tubby — was diagnosed with breast cancer and had to leave her job. My mother would often sit on our front porch chatting with Bobby. Mom liked his stories.

    I remember going home when my sister Darlene passed away and with my mother-in-law and her sister Francis Firth we went to MacDonalds for something to eat and Bobby was there. I went up and said hello, he remembered me as I had moved away in 1980 to Edmonton. He looked up and said you dyed your hair! I know you O’Connell girl, you are a red head!! He remembered my hair and my name.

    I asked him if I could sit and have a picture with him, at first he said no pictures, I joked with him and he agreed. I still have them and now he tells my mother-in-law, when he sees her, how is my girlfriend doing? Bless him.

    I never knew that story about the bad beating but I do remember there was Tasty Freeze across from our house and I remember seeing older guys, the ones who thought they were cool spitting in his hands and calling him names. I was young and never really knew what was happening, but I remember it well.

    Yes, he is a legend who would never hurt a soul.

    Reading this has brought tears to my eyes because I have to say when I was a young girl I never understood why he would wear dangling earrings and had a pair of pantyhose hung over his arm standing on the corner of SugarLoaf Street saying he was waiting for Roger to come and pick him up, as they were going to Montreal to get married! That made me laugh and yes I teased him, but if my mother or father ever heard me they would get upset, as they should have. So, yes, I am guilty of teasing him. I am sorry for that.

    Bobby is the hearts of many of us from Campbellton. I hope he lives to be 100 and that this Baboon has karma come his way — if it has not already, as it always comes back.

    Bobby is a legend in our small place called Campbellton. I am glad I had a chance to have my picture taken with him.

    Love your story!!


  3. There are moments in life when time is interrupted. A stillness overpowers one and only memories surface of what was and could have been. The Bobby story is one of those moments, as I recall seeing Bobby and hearing of the “queer” he was.

    I too was born just outside Campbellton, and like Bobby knew I was different (gay), but unlike Bobby, fate would have it that I was brought up in a very sheltered environment, and so at the age of 13 was schooled far away from Campbellton so I did not risk the brutalities of a “Baboon”.

    However, the time I did spend in Campbellton as an adolescent was filled with fearful memories of encountering the same fate as Bobby. But for the grace of God there go I.

    The loneliness of it all is perhaps far worse that the physical and emotional blows. Thank you or sharing your well-written story, so that one’s life is never lived in vain.


  4. Wow, so heart-wrenching and touching.

    I did not know Mr. Steeves, but no one should ever have to go through what he did.

    With children of my own I cannot imagine the hurt his mom felt for her boy that had to endure this abusive treatment on a daily basis.

    My heart is broken for them both!


  5. All of us who grew up in Campbellton remember Bobby … a harmless person who was a victim of an unnecessary hate-crime.

    We are now in Ontario. I read the story word-for-word to my two children. Kids see the world differently these days.

    Thank you for sharing this amazing teaching opportunity.😊


  6. I was 11 years old in 1957 and imagine you or Bobby are about my age. I too went to Roseberry Street School, then to Lord Beaverbrook.

    I sort of recall your name and Bobby’s from back then.

    I don’t recall the incident you describe of Bobby getting bullied, but I did have a friend who around that age was always criticized for being gay. He was the same age as me and had died this past summer. He had gotten married and had a child. I always wondered how he managed to hide what he was like at that early age later on in his life.

    Do you recall me? Full name is Colin Robert Mann. I lived on Duncan Street up by Day’s store. I wonder how close you guys lived from myself.

    I was quite intrigued by your write-up.

    Bobby’s mother is in the same graveyard as my father. At that time, I chummed around with guys such as Kenny Day, Dennis Aucoin, David Dobson and Doug Sharp.


  7. Thank you, Mr. Byron Christopher. Thank you very much for sharing and mostly for having taken the time to give Bobby the honours that he so deserves.

    The story brought up good memories of Campbellton back in 1976. I was 11 years old when I first talked to Bobby.

    I used to live on Victoria Street, not far from his home, and in the summer me and my younger sister got to see him often. He was very nice with us and always showed a big smile.

    I never saw anybody being abusive toward him but I remember feeling pity for him. Because he was different and alone, I guess. Now that I look back, he didn’t seem to be unhappy at all.

    And I’m sure glad that his differences made him famous.

    What I’m learning from your story is that we should never be ashamed of who we are no matter how obvious our differences are. Bobby is Bobby and this is how we should all be, ourselves.

    A great lesson of acceptance. Thanks again and thanks to Bobby Steeves.


  8. I grew up in Campbellton and knew Bobby Steeves since I was a child because he was a good friend of the family.

    I was told that he was a “queer” but it wasn’t a big thing. He was kind to everyone, treated everyone respectful and always had kind words.

    He never looked at life as hardship but always looked for the good in everything … and I am so very happy for him and proud to have him as my friend.

    Thank you Bobby for being my friend.


  9. I regret the number of times I drove by Bobby when it was raining and I did not pick him up. I’m embarrased to say that and I regret it.

    I didn’t know he had so many friends.

    Your article woke me up.


  10. I was deeply touched by this story.

    I was unaware that Bobby was still alive. Although I knew about him, I knew nothing of him.

    Being gay and living in Dalhousie, I know how it feels to be different and to being put aside by people one’s own age.

    Luckily I was never bullied to the extent that Bobby experienced. Nice to know that he made it through these difficult times.

    Thanks to the author for sharing this painful memory.


  11. I too remember Bobby from growing up in Campbellton in the Sixties and Seventies.

    I was always ashamed and felt bad for the way Bobby was treated — but i was also ashamed for the way I never stepped forward and tried to stop it.

    I hope he understands how many did really care.

    Thanks for a good story that brought back good and bad memories.


  12. I too was bullied as a child by a neighbourhood kid. He even knocked out my bottom teeth (permanent teeth) when I was 8 or 9 years old.

    He also pelted snowballs containing rocks at my head when I walked to catch the school bus, etc.

    Fortunately, my mom rushed me to the dentist who happened to be in his office doing paperwork (it was a Saturday afternoon) and Dentist Vautour (RIP) in Dalhousie replanted my four knocked out teeth and told me to eat soup and only soft food for a week or two until these teeth were ready for chewing real food.

    All but one tooth re-rooted and re-established a blood supply!

    I have never forgot the feeling of this assault/terror and those feelings came flooding back when I read about Bobby’s ordeal with Baboon the bully who beat and bloodied him while he innocently walked to school.

    I cried for Bobby and I guess for me too as these feelings
    /memories came flooding back like it happened yesterday! It has been 50 years since I was assaulted!

    I am so glad for reporters like you who bring these stories to life!

    My bully (KG) was never held accountable — and it was wrong on so many levels that he got away with this reprehensible act just the same as Baboon.

    Perhaps a book or movie could be made about Bobby’s life … as a lesson to bullies and silent bystanders everywhere.

    I lived and worked in Campbellton at the Soldiers’ Memorial and the Campbellton Regional Hospital from June 1978 to July 1997 and knew of Bobby Steeves but did not know how he had been bullied.

    Such a sad and heartbreaking story indeed.

    Thanks for sharing Bobby’s story.


  13. I read your article about Bobby and found it so uplifting. It made me think that there are still good people in the area.

    I was happy to read people take the time out of their day to talk with Bobby or buy him a coffee. I know how much that means to him when someone does just a little thing like saying ‘hi.’

    I worked at Kmart for years and I knew a lot of people but as life went on, I developed a decease called MS. I have slowly been withdrawing from society … but when I get out and someone comes up to me and says, “Hi how are you? … I haven’t seen you in awhile.” That makes my day because people actually remember me.

    So I am sure what is going to happen to Bobby in the next while is going to do wonders for his soul … and it is because of you getting the ball rolling with the article. I thank you for that.


  14. I am a very good friend of Bobby Steeves.

    I now live in Cabo, Mexico in the winter and in Sylvan Lake, Alberta in the summer but for the last two summers I have been in Campbellton and hoping to spend more time with my family, the Savoie’s.

    I love Bobby and he will always be my friend and always welcome to my house.

    I had a few beers with him this summer past. I saw him almost every day walking by Yvon and Brenda’s House on Duncan Street and we would invite him in for a drink and had a talk. I always enjoyed talking with him. He made me smile all day long.

    He was our sitter when we were in school and he would cook for us all and clean our house cause Mom and Dad were working so he was our Mom and Dad. Everyday he was there when we got home from school. When I say Mom and Dad I mean Marcel and Mommy Savoie.

    I am sure that everyone that knows Bobby knows my parents which we miss sooooo very much.

    This story moved me so much I am crying and I can’t stop. I defended Bobby always and I know of many that did the same. God Bless you. I know lots of people love him the way I do.

    So thank you very much for this beautiful story. I am printing it so I can read it when I am missing home and Bobby.

    God bless you all.


  15. This story made me cry. I remember Bobby well. I often gave money to him and told him to spend it on himself, not to give it away. I went after those who hit and teased him. That was so wrong, so wrong.


  16. I remember him well. I was born on June 11th, 1944 so that makes us about the same age.

    Have not heard anything about Bobby in a long long time so thank you very much for the story. Been away from Campbellton now for over 20 years but great to hear about people and things like this …


  17. Was talking to bobby today at Sobeys and I asked him if he had gotten some gift cards for Christmas in his mailbox. He got very excited [was bouncing with joy]; he also told me about the money raised for him.

    Some late happiness for the poor guy.

    I remember people being cruel to him, and it being totally acceptable to everyone [well, almost]. I also recall people chasing him with cars. Bad stuff.

    Too bad so many have to get old to develop some passion for the less fortunate. Ironically, Bobby Steeves was a doormat for many people’s inadequacies … all to boost their own self-esteem.

    Bobby’s hands are badly mangled now, but it doesn’t slow him down. Chirpy like a puppy, he was.

    Everyone remembers Bobby … but how many will remember us?


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