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This site is dedicated to the loving memory of   Robin Gezzi

  n avid fisherman, fun-lovin' hard-workin epitome of an Adirondack man, Robin's uncanny knack for finding humour and creative solutions for any situation makes him a gifted friend, son, brother, uncle and cousin to all.
      A talented fellow in the ways of the outdoors, Robin plied his well-honed skills over many areas of our great country, teaching and sharing with many, the valuable skills and concientious ethic found only in but a few men of such sterling character.
      A brief adventure to California in early '80, fighting fires and working in the Solar program with the California Conservation Corps, Robin got the travel bug once again and left California as a crew-boss with the Vision Quest Wagon Train. But not before forging some solid, lasting friendships and keen, valuable memories.
     And, as most people who cherish their homeland, Robin eventually found himself re-seeking his roots back in the North Creek area of the Adirondack. He eventually had re-established himself enough to engage full-time at North Country Community College in Saranac Lake until his untimely passing at age 33.

     The other side of loss is of course, gain. And, just as we all knew Robin and consider our loss, what he showed us in kindness, compassion and humour we all are the richer and comforted at the gain we recieve by the priveledge of his memory always remebered.
     In the spirit of that memory, Robin's parents, Kathleen and Orlando Gezzi under the auspices of Robin's View Enterprises, have created a memorial scholarship program in his name, at North Country Community College. Eventually the plan is to develop a Full Scholarship program there as well.

Note from Tootie Gezzi: This is a poem by Hugh Snyder that I found among my son Robins' papers.

Simon Thinks
(Simon of Cyrene was one of the few who made a constructive contribution to the whole tragedy of the crucifiction. The Scripture is not clear whether he accepted this burden unwillingly or with joy. Other writings might shed some light on this, but for the purposes of this poem, we assume that he was chosen and that he did not volunteer.)
part I
(On the Road)
OURGH! Am I so strong that from this crowd They can not find a stronger man than I To lug this load upon this road and up That hill, where there perhaps, I"ll die?
Who knows what angry spirit in this crowd will yet enflame its screaming members to? The untamed fury bared upon its' face Might loose itself, poor Simon, yet on you.
I came here to Jerusalem for fun; To see new places, find girls and be free; But now, this crowd, so fearful in its' rage, comes pouring out its' wrathful load on me!
And what of him, poor wretch! It seems odd They're so upset because He is the Son of God
We Africans makes sense. We find our gods In running brooks, or underneath a tree, But these fools...they torment this Man and me Because He says He loves them. Well, not me!
Their wild wrath releases else but love Within my chest. But on Simon, on. You have No time to rest, or even think, Press on To that high hill.---It seems so far away.
It's not the load I mind. I'd gladly Be of help to any man. It's these Small stones that stick and stay beneath My feet. This load I'll carry as I can.
Part II (On the Hill)
And so, we reach the top at last, and I Am free to run some place away. I'm not a slave. I have no master here, And yet, what keeps me rooted in this place?
I can not move, except my heart. It beats At such a pace and will not stop...... ...but see! They're nailing Him upon that tree Whose ugly branches just were laid on me.
These fools! They cannot know. They cannot see The joy that I have known, that throbs in me because I only walked with him a ways, And scarcely felt some tiny portion Of His Pain. Come, Simon, off. Away. Go find some Quiet place Far from this Hill, and leave that Tortured face. Now that makes sense. Now that's the kind of Thought That makes freeman behave the way they ought.
OH GODS THAT I HAVE KNOWN, NOR YET NOT KNOWN! Those fools are lifting him above the ground, And leaving him suspended in the air Between the hope of heaven and earth's despair- Run, Simon, Flee. How can a man in this hushed crowd Remain to see this ugly thing that they have done? Oh strong, but disobedient legs, why won't you move? —And all he said He did was just to love—
The others leave, so what is keeping me To drink the horror of this gory scene? But hush, the soldier speaks. Perhaps he looks For me, has found me out, but no. Not so. He seems to be as motionless as I His eyes are also fastened to the sky.
'This truly was the Son of God.' Why so? 'The man's a Roman soldier. He cannot know. An I, an African, know how things are. I wonder....Could it be true I came so far to see the Son of god tormented in this place to walk with Him, and run this wretched race? They're leaving now, and well they should, the raucous calls of their rough voices stilled.
An so should I. Come legs, attend my voice. Your ruler bids you move far from this place, ...and what of me? My self can never leave. My body does, but He still holds my love

©  by Hugh Snyder all rights reserved