Melody Hamilton, who drove from Wichita Falls, Texas, asked during her speech at Robert “Keyboard Bob” Crawford’s celebration of life at Reno’s Chop Shop on Sunday, honoring one of the fixtures of Deep Ellum who passed at the age of 73.
When news of his passing was shared on Aug. 10 on Facebook, social media was flooded with comments from people who had a Bob story. Here, everyone had a Bob story too.
“I remember Bob back in the ‘80s, back when Deep Ellum was scary,” Hamilton began. “And then we roll into the ‘90s, ‘00s, 2010s and here we are. Let’s hope that Deep Ellum stays scary and a little bit funky and a little bit weird. Every single time that we roll through, it’s a little bit scary, a little bit funky and a little bit weird; we remember Bob. What would Bob do?”
“Bob is up there laughing. He’s having a really good time right now,” Hamilton concluded. “St. Pete is right there with him, hanging out at the Golden Gates. Rest in peace, sir. Play every single day.”
Announced on the His Name Is Bob Facebook page, this service was made possible by Reno's Chop Shop, St. Pete's Dancing Marlin, Campisi's, Serious Pizza, Cafe Brazil and Rudolph's Meat Market, which all donated food for the people who gathered to mourn, exchange memories and remember Bob's life. These establishments knew Keyboard Bob on his good days and bad days, and it was one last favor for their frequent visitor.
When you walked into Reno’s Chop Shop, there was a photo of Bob in his younger years and one more recent behind a bouquet of flowers. On a projector, a Bob tribute video played images of Bob being Bob with his many personalities, crashing band sets, wearing eccentric outfits like a polka-dotted clown suit with a cigar, in full St. Patrick's Day garb and rocking his mohawk. The music, DJed by Michael Roos, was some of the songs that Bob loved. Polaroids of Bob were passed around to guests.
Lisa Johnson Mitchell, one of the directors of His Name Is Bob with J. Sebastian Lee and his wife Heather, was the host for the evening, who spoke about Bob before passing the mic to others in attendance who wanted to memorialize him.
“He loved you all, he loved Deep Ellum, he loved how you take care of him, how you were his family and we can’t thank you enough,” Mitchell said.
Jessica Brodski was first up. Although she didn’t prepare anything to say about Bob, she spoke about how she used to cut Bob's hair and the time he wanted a mohawk.
“Looking around [the bar], this is literally from all over, different places of Deep Ellum. Different places of Dallas that really brought Bob together,” Brodski said. “I got to know Bob pretty well for many, many years, but I was actually working here at Reno’s. He came in one day, of course, cranky as always, asking for $20 and a cigar.”
“I was cutting people’s hair during the day shift and he asked for a mohawk. That started our little relationship of me giving him haircuts,” she continued. “I would not change a single day because I got to really know Bob on a different level in vulnerable states, I got to see him when he was at his happiest and dancing, when he was mad, when he was angry. All he wanted was to be loved. And he was so much more intelligent than just normal, average people thought he was. Everybody looked at him, and they had their opinion of him, whether he was a panhandler or some crazy old man, he was literally just Bob.”
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Toni Martin, an artist who talked about how people were always in his orbit, remembers when she was “stuck” with Bob. “I used to get stuck with Bob. I bought him a full piano, full keyboard and bought him everything. Everybody that’s here tonight is a patron of what Bob stands for.”
Joe Martinez, lead singer of The Effinays, vouched for Bob always playing beside them. “He used to come to our shows with his little keyboard right here,” he said, pointing at his “Deep Ellum Bob” shirt with Bob carrying a keyboard in a grey suit. “He’d set up at the edge of the stage and just play with us. He was really cool people.”
— Eric Diep (@E_Diep) August 25, 2025
Jill Carpenter, who knew Bob when he got to Dallas in 1991, said, “Bob loved people. Period. There were times when he would say to me, and I knew it was God talking to me. He was a special, special soul.”
Bob would be everywhere in Deep Ellum, playing his favorite songs. Kelly Deleon, who runs the Deep Ellum Outdoor Market, has known Bob for over 20 years and first met him at a show at Trees. “Ever since then, everywhere I went in this neighborhood, he was always there with his keyboard in hand, always serenading me,” she said. “Over the years, while running the Deep Ellum Outdoor Market with all my vendors, [he's] dancing with anyone he could find to dance with. If you had an empty seat at your booth, he’s your friend for the day. Buying him ice cream, getting him drinks and maybe a pair of glasses.”
After the informal speeches were over, Mitchell raised a toast. “If nobody’s told you I loved you today, I do,” Mitchell said, quoting one of Bob’s iconic sayings that lives forever in Deep Ellum.
— Eric Diep (@E_Diep) August 25, 2025
Speaking with Mitchell outside Reno’s Chop Shop, she explained why this place had significance to Bob’s life.
“Deep Ellum is his home. He loved Reno’s. He worked at Reno’s, he worked at different places,” she tells The Observer. “This is where he felt like he belonged, where he was accepted. It’s a community of artists who don’t fit the mold of a polite society, if you will. One thing about Bob that I fully believe is that he is fully human, and he has no filter…Bob just told it like it was. He loved everybody and he loved giving love.”
His Name Is Bob, released in 2010 and started production in 2003, is a hyperlocal documentary centered on him that was filmed over seven years. On why she chose him as a subject initially, she shared, “I was in recovery. I’ve been sober for 16 years. Bob had a community in the recovery community. Everybody knew him. One day, he was in the coffee room, and the word ‘documentary’ came to me. From then on, I said, ‘There’s a story here. I must tell it.’ I felt like it was a divine appointment.”
“We were also investigative journalists,” she said of her and Lee. “We tried to figure out his tall tales and whether there was any truth to them. They were blown out of proportion, but there was a kernel of truth to everything he said.”
Some of those tall tales include his mother hitting him in the head with a frying pan and an $86 million inheritance. What was the truth was Bob's musical talent and his wisdom, knowledge and understanding of things.
Mitchell is still grieving over Bob’s loss after learning he had a valve problem with his heart. “I know it is a very serious issue. It was kind of a shock. I thought I could get to see him and I have a lot of tears and grief not being able to talk to him before he passed.”
Mitchell’s memories of Bob are filled with love. “You know, he’d get mad at me. Sometimes, he’d cuss at me. But guess what, he would say, ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” she said, imitating Bob’s apology voice. “And then, ‘If nobody told you they loved you, I do.’ Yeah, he’d ask for money, he’d ask for rides, but it’s the small price you pay for Bob’s friendship.”
Raine Devries, who organized the celebration of life with Mitchell, Bob’s guardian, James Carrell and others, says this was a community effort. Although Bob is gone, the memories last forever.
“The best memory I have of Bob was the night he was jamming out at what was LaGrange, which is now Three Links across from Trees. LaGrange was a ‘swankytonk.’ ...He was there for Spector 45's CD release party. There’s a video of that. He sat on the front sidewalk and just jammed with his little keyboard,” she said.
“That was a good night.”
Rest in peace, Keyboard Bob.
