The Frankly Bob Awards for outstanding visualand music, and literary work.

Toronto Star Mar. 30, 2005. 01:00 AM

GTA COLUMNISTS
Jim Coyle
Rosie Dimanno
Joe Fiorito
Christopher Hume
Royson James


A legend and also a Lowthian
Street City mayor was a lost brother

JOE FIORITO

Frankly Bob was — still is — a legend in this town. People still remember him as the first elected mayor of Street City, Toronto's most daring experiment in housing for the homeless. He was articulate and well-educated and he encouraged others. He also had a keen interest in the arts, so much so that the Frankly Bob Awards, presented yearly to homeless writers and artists, were created in his name.

Funny, that name.

For years I figured he was a man named Bob who started every sentence, "Frankly ..."

Now meet Jim Lowthian. He is an amateur genealogist; every family has one. He traces and keeps track. It had always troubled him that his younger brother dropped out in the late '70s and just disappeared. Ah, well, every family has a brother who can't be traced or tracked.

But even though the voices of the missing echo and grow faint, they do not disappear. One day recently, Jim was doing a computer search, looking for references to his father, when up popped that name.

Frankly Bob.

It took a moment for the penny to drop.

Frankly Bob — a.k.a. Frank Roberts Lowthian — was Jim's brother. "We called him Bob," he said with half a smile.

Jim is retired. He lives in Richmond Hill. We sat in his sunny kitchen the other day. He said, "Bob was the youngest. Ed was the middle brother and I'm the oldest. Our dad was a cabinetmaker, a carpenter; he ended up as the building inspector in Weston. His name was Frank, which is how I came across the reference to Frankly Bob."

What was Bob like as one of the Lowthian boys?

"He was very sensitive, perhaps too sensitive. He did some watercolours once. Here's one." Jim handed me an old piece of paper, torn in two; a woodsy scene, deftly done, carefully preserved, but torn. "We told him it was good. He cut it up." You should not be surprised at this. I am the second brother of four. Life is never easy for the youngest brother.

Jim said, "My brother Ed went to Royal Military College. He became an engineer, and he ended up working for the Department of Labour. I was an X-ray technologist. I ended up managing the department. I guess Bob thought he wasn't as successful." There's that younger brother thing again. And what did Bob do for a living before he hit the streets?

"He was an air traffic controller."

Oh. I see.

Air traffic control is merely one of the toughest jobs in the world; all you need is perfectly sound judgment, grace under pressure, nerves of steel, and the ability to juggle hundreds of human lives high in the air at a cruising speed of ... oh, those younger brothers.

Jim said, "Our parents died in 1976, within a few months of each other. After that, the stress of the job got to him. He was posted to North Bay. It was supposed to be less stressful. The last time we saw him was there. The family went up. We had a good time. But Bob dropped out after that.

"We got reports now and then. He was seen in Orillia, or in Toronto. But we didn't know exactly what happened. From 1977 on, he wasn't in our lives and we didn't seek him out. That was his choice."

If it was a painful choice for Bob, it was equally painful for the family.

"His nieces and nephews considered him the rich uncle. He was an important part of their early life. He had a sports car, an MG. He had a plane, some kind of Cessna. He flew down to the States. He travelled to Mexico, Morocco, Spain. Some of the nieces and nephews were angry that he disappeared."

Jim handed me a photograph: a young Bob, sitting at a table with his father; one of those classic pictures, father and son happy in each other's company. But who can explain what happened?

"For the first few years after he left, we'd get a phone call on Christmas Eve, around suppertime. It was usually me that answered. There would be nobody on the line. We just assumed it was him. The calls stopped after a few years."

Unknown to the family, Bob died in 1993. No one who knew him thought to search for any kin. Or perhaps that was how Bob wanted it.

On the basis of his Internet discovery, Jim made some calls and found out a bit more. "After Bob died, one of the staff of Street City took Bob's ashes down to Mexico and scattered them. He always liked Mujeres. He kept going back. I'm assuming it was there. We were never told." There will always be gaps.

But now there is a bridge. Jim talked to his children, and to Ed's children. He told them about the arts awards in their uncle's name. They talked things over and pooled some money.

This year, on April 7, the Frankly Bobs will include an award for music, sponsored by the Lowthian family. Jim smiles, but after all these years there is a lingering sadness.

Frankly, Jim misses Bob.