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Integrity keeps the scales of justice in balance
Robert E. Weinberg
Bob with his son Bob.
Bob and his grandchildren Huck and Frances
L to R: Dad, Autumn, Denver, Monterey, Gary
In honor of Robert E. Weinberg, Scott County Prosecutor 1995-2009.
On May 31, 2009 the Scott County Attorney’s Office suffered a great loss with the death of Assistant County Attorney Robert Weinberg. Bob suffered a stroke while at work on May 28, 2009.
Bob began with our office in 1995. From 1995 through 2008 he specialized in narcotics prosecutions. In January 2009 Bob was promoted to supervisor of associate court. His knowledge was greatly admired and his counsel was often sought. One of his areas of expertise was constitutional law, especially search and seizure issues.
Bob often volunteered his time to conduct training sessions for local law enforcement, enhancing the professionalism and success of those agencies. Bob was also a professor of Criminal Justice and Political Science at St. Ambrose University.
(The following is excerpted from the Quad City Times Obituary)
Bob was born March 24, 1943, in Chicago, Ill., the son of Robert G. and Blanche (Vinsch) Weinberg. Bob and Sandra (Klein) were married on June 19, 1965. She preceded him in death March 15, 2001. He was united in marriage to Terri Lopez, December 11, 2003, in Hawaii. Bob proudly served as a Captain in the United States Marine Corps. He was a helicopter pilot during the Vietnam conflict, and earned a Distinguished Flying Cross among other decorations. He was an honored graduate of Northwestern University, Ohio State University, and the State University of New York Law School.
Bob embraced life with enthusiastic zeal! Even the smallest things, the simplest moments brought him such joy. With his wife and best friend, Terri, by his side, Bob enjoyed so many things: nature hikes, bike rides, traveling, swimming, theatre, singing, gardening, reading and fishing. Whether hunting morel mushrooms in the woods, or feeding the birds in his own garden, reading to a grandchild on his lap, or fly fishing with his sons and nephews, his appreciation of wonder and awareness of beauty was boundless.
Those left to honor his memory include his loving wife, Terri; daughter, Autumn Hall, her partner, Gary Foster, her daughters, Monterey and Denver, of Colorado; son, Robert B. Weinberg, his wife, Kristin, and their children, Robert Huckleberry and Frances Sandra, of Missouri; daughter, Amber Phlipot, her husband, Douglas, and their children, Asher, Gracie and Sophia of Indiana; stepchildren, Andrew Lopez, Marisa Lopez, her children, Anthony and Marianna, and granddaughter, Angelica, of Illinois; and sister-in-law, Mary Ann Sullivan, her husband, Denny, and their children, Justin, Kyle, Katie Weinberg, and their families of Minnesota.
Bob was a great man who lived an incomparable life of integrity, courage, and loving service to his family, his community and his country. He was a rare example of a man who had learned to balance being true to himself with selflessness. In his career, as in his life, he put the interest of the community and service to his fellow man ahead of self-interest; he put the promotion of fairness and justice ahead of self-promotion; and he fought tirelessly for what he believed in with little thought as to recognition or reward.
•••
Blackberry Morning by Autumn (Weinberg) Hall
On a blackberry morning
I am awakened by the palpable presence of my father.
His broad-shouldered silhouette covers me like a comforter
In the cool Wisconsin air.
We dress in crazy patchwork layers
Of well-worn khaki and windowpane plaid
Slipping on shoes still musty and damp
From yesterday’s leopard frog hunt.
On a blackberry morning
We carry matched galvanized metal pails
Which ring like timpani when the first berries land;
And though mine is half the size of his,
He makes it seem twice as important.
We stroll past ghost toads warmed by campfire coals
Beneath hickory trees whispering to waking woods
And step out together onto settled dust
Of the winding gravel road.
On a blackberry morning
The air is still, and the swirl of swisher sweet smoke
Curls from the tip of his smoldering cigar,
Sending mosquitoes on their whining way.
The Magic Ones reveal themselves
As jack-in-the-pulpits and tree frog gems,
Wee wrens whistling pied pipers’ tunes
Which only they and my father know.
On a blackberry morning
My gallant knight in shining armor
Brushes the brambles aside for me
Protecting me from their wicked briars.
His hazel eyes twinkle with a secret knowing,
A selfless joy in sharing the sparkle
Of the prize-winning blackberry jewel
He plucks and presents just for me.
On a blackberry morning,
Time holds its breath--leaves us free from the haunting
Of chopper blades whirring beneath jungle canopies
And the cruelty of arrogant adolescent boys.
On a blackberry morning, there is only the sweetness
Of this man, this moment, this strength, this certainty, this peace;
The rightness of this fragment of forever
That is my father’s hand in mine.
© Autumn N. Hall 2009
