Saying Goodbye to a Secretive Veteran Friend: +Robert 'Bob' Hickether 1956-2026

MONTGOMERY, TX -- In Veterans Groups there are always former soldiers, sailors, marines, and airmen passing away, and it is especially heart-breaking and sad if they reside by themselves, not being constantly checked on by those that love them, whether they are blood relations or not. Mr. Robert ‘Bob’ Hickethier of Montgomery, was one of those gentlemen, quite literally a gentle-giant. I knew Bob through the Lone Star Honor Flight Veterans Group, or 105, where he, years ago, introduced me to his neighbor Sarah Bartholet Gwin years ago, whose family owns Bartholet Home Furnishings in Conroe, when they were in the midst of gathering North Carolina Hurricane Helene relief supplies to send back to NC to help storm victims instead. So, instead of sending empty tractor trailers back east. Sarah came up with a brilliant idea, and with a simple post on social media from Sarah, the supplies started coming in, and in working with their furniture freight carrier, two full trucks of supplies were sent. Thanks to Hickethier’s intervention, I did several stories on the hurricane relief efforts, as well as the Bartholet’s sending of Christmas gifts to NC kids.

I got a call from Sarah in February just before I went into the hospital sharing her concern for Bob’s health. I put out a feeler because his truck had not moved, and there was no sign of life from the house. No one had seen him. I later got a call from Robin Bartholet, Sarah’s grandmother, after starting my hospital stay, to inform me that Mr. Bob had indeed passed away in his residence after an intervention from Sheriff Doolittle’s office. Sarah’s dad Todd, entered the house to see Hickethier’s remains, which of course was quite upsetting after lying many days dead in his bathroom with no air conditioning. I went to Bob’s house last Saturday, and stood in his bedroom with Todd’s wife Kim, arm-in-arm, crying with her while remembering Bob and the spot where he died. Now I had seen hideously broken bodies in Iraq, a child had died in my arms, as well as both of my parents. Not once did I tear. No emotion. Not one line of liquid down my cheek.

But here I was openly balling my eyes out for a man hardly anyone knew; not even his neighbors, friends, not even 105 Vets. And I’ve come to find out that I was on course in living the same secretive life that Bob led, but I’m changing my ways.

At Bob’s residence, I met his friend and emergency contact Brice Herring, the crusty-old now retired Montgomery County Sheriff’s Deputy, a former motorcycle patrol sergeant who worked out of The Woodlands. We first met in 2011 on I-45 and Gladstell at 65mph, while he was holding up hundreds of cars behind his motorcycle, no one daring to pass. So I tested Brice with my driving philosophy of ‘passing cops with respect’ by inching so much forward so little, then a little more, and then driving off. My argument for the tactic is suffering from Post Traumatic LINE Stress Disorder, or PTLSD, which was diagnosed after years in the military. lol. Well, Brice wasn’t having none of it, and lit me up along with a few bells and whistles, wagging his finger at me to stay in line. It was a funny incident. I formally met Brice a few years later, when I took Sergeant Steve Squier’s MCSO Citizens Academy, and Brice gave a lecture on motorcycle patrols and regaled the class with his more famous busts. Brice’s name sounded familiar, and since we both had lost a lot of weight recently, Brice with Mr. Bob’s passing away stress; and mine with diabetic ketoacidosis, we didn’t recognize each other. After that, there were hugs all around with the exchange of numbers, etc. It’s really a small world in our area, and it’s incredible in how many people I know, who know people I know, and so forth. Bob had taken the same Citizen’s Academy class when Herring led it before Squier, and the friendship lasted until last month when Bob died.

Mr. Bob’s life was a mystery, but when presented with some evidence and going into Hercule Poirot mode, I can piece together a little bit about him. He was estranged from his sister in New Jersey for the past quarter century, and lived a hermited existence. He never invited anyone in his house for the embarrassment of the bachelor upkeep of his place, which is why he posted himself outside in his driveway in greeting neighbors. And I understand that, even now, I have paperwork strewn about my house, having failed to hire a personal assistant to get a grasp on the situation, and my housekeeper just deals with it. Now after Mr. Bob, I’ve vowed to take some time off and deal with my hoarding situation, and I’ll pay $20/hr for a PA’s help. So you may see me take a week off every once every once in a while to catch up on paperwork. So don’t worry if you do see me for a week, I’m OK, unless otherwise stated.

Bob was diagnosed with a brain tumor back in January, plus he had other issues about his large frame. His stubbornness and lack of willingness to ask for help cost the man, and in some ways his friends, myself included, are mad at him for not asking for assistance. His neighbor Sarah Gwin and her family, they are home interior professionals, and would have been happy to help with cooking, cleaning, and finding a hospice service for Bob’s final days to pass away with dignity. That wouldn’t have been too much to ask, not at all.

At 105, Bob, a Marine, sat amongst his peers at The Jarhead table, a group of guys with a widow or two, whom I’ve come to honestly love over the years. From General Steve Hummer on down, we all love to laugh and cry and remember those who have passed away, and celebrate those who are still with us. And we will be setting up a little memorial to Mr. Bob at 105 following his memorial service.

I got to thinking about Bob’s medical diagnosis, and having had cancer myself, to be told that you have months or perhaps weeks to live, is devastating. Now I had some familial support, but Bob shut himself off from his friends after that. The man suffered in silence, stoically, not wanting to be a burden, and I had the same mindset. For decades I’ve suffered in silence myself, mostly in a hospital existence, but still it’s not right. We have to open ourselves up to people and let our feelings be known. Of course it’s too late for Bob, but I’m changing my ways, and I would hope that you find a way to help others, healing and paying it forward, being there for that elderly man or woman near you, or the Veteran down the street. Knock on their doors, check on them. Overcome any misgivings about interactions, and just do it. Bob had the mindset that no one loved him, which was totally not true. People would have dropped what they were doing to go to his aid, and it humbles me when someone says, “Ruben, you call me, anytime of the day or night, when you need assistance,” and I’ve had to make that call several times. I sometimes tear up thinking about that, the reverence I receive from people who are not blood relatives, but my family by choice, and wanting to go out of their way to make sure I’m taken care of to live another day. And I’m sure someone said it to Bob, but his stubbornness got in the way, and he never made the call.

Bob didn’t deserve to pass away alone. He had friends and neighbors, people that would have been there until the end. His passing has jolted me to set aside my stoicism, and now whenever I’m in the hospital, I’m putting out the call for visitors. I’m seen at The Veterans Hospital in Houston. I like the large private room I get, the lower volume of activity about the place, and free parking for visitors, plus there is plenty of room to work and write when given the opportunity.

The Lesson of Mr. Bob is one of bringing people together to face life’s challenges. In fact on March 1st, my great-niece Evie, 5, and her father, my nephew G.W., visited. They were my first visitors in the hospital in well over 15 years. It was Evie’s first time in a hospital, and although hesitant at first, she soon warmed-up, and we had a great time since I had some strength and wittiness about me getting ready to go home the next day. I didn’t place Evie’s visit at the time as that significant, but in actuality, now that I read the tea leaves; it was a good omen for me, and I’d like to think that Bob had a little part to play in that. A parting gift of hope that I can learn from, that we can learn, from Professor Bob’s lecture on ‘How Not To Lead a Solitary Existence.’

Another aspect to Bob is the thought of being a burden to others. A lot of us are in the mindset that as we age, we don’t want our existence to be seen by others, who when we ask for help, roll their eyes, and say ‘why me?’ Many selfish and ignorant people will do that, and they will get their karma when they are old and decrepit in a nursing home one day, lying in their own urine and feces until dinner.

If someone rolls their eyes when you ask for help, they weren’t raised with compassion, and don’t deserve anything in your will when the time comes to cross over to the next life. You can tell if someone, as they grow, or as a relationship develops, if they are someone worth their salt in your life. Those are the ones who you want to nurture and help achieve their goals, not the ones who think they are entitled to your money and assets just because they are blood. BS. For a good portion of us, friends, charitable organization, should be considerations in our final arrangements, and not slovenly family vultures circling waiting to feast on our carcass and assets. Blood is not family. Family chooses each other, and the bonds are stronger, and the help is there no matter the situation, and it’s given with love and respect.

I’ve experienced tremendous amounts of pain and heartbreak in my life, and with Bob Hickethier’s medical situation in his final months and days, I cannot begin to imagine the horror he faced or even thought. The head pain alone would have floored me, the symptoms of the body’s organs shutting down, would have equally been as intense and painful, and of course there is the consideration of his mindset. Poor Bob knew his days were numbers, even going to the point of shutting off his lights and gas at his residence. He gave up, not wanting to be a burden, and it’s sad, and hopefully we all can learn a lesson from Bob, and come closer together in Our Remembrance of loved ones we have lost.

+Robert 'Bob' Hickether 1956-2026. He was 69 years old.

Ruben can be reached at: ruben@montgomerycountynews.net

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