Robinson Family Photos

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1895 circa, Eta and David Robinson from collection of Dan Loeb, Berkeley, CA.
Ita arrived in US 8/7/1895. She was born about 1855, so is estimated at 40 years old here.
Alternatively, it would have been taken in Europe before David's departure in 1892.


undated photo, probably taken in Portland, Maine, from Joseph Chandler collection
If we could ID the girl, we could date the photo.
Irving Robinson wrote Joe Chandler, quoted in Dearest Rachel: "I remember Bubbie Eta being a great romantic as I heard that she read romantic stories when she was in her 90's.
I remember her being a very independent person who refused to move into the Portland Old People's Home because she said that the people there were too old for her.
She was a very a generous person and I once heard her say that the only legacy she was leaving her children was a trunk full of receipts from the various organizations she supported.
The Lubovitch rebbe in Montreal told me that she phoned him when she wanted a halachic question answered."

Jake & Rose Nelson Robinson circa 1912 Portland
1912 circa, Portland, Maine: Jake & Rose Nelson Robinson. Anne Thorner Stack collection.
the date on this item may be unreliable and I haven't yet had time to review my process.
Jake and Rose were married on November 7, 1905 in Portland, Maine
I may have assumed it was taken on same day as that of the kids; it may have been a reprint of 1905 photo.

Irving & Anne Robinson circa 1912 Portland
circa 1912 Portland, Maine: Irving & Anne Robinson. Anne Thorner Stack collection.


1906-1910 circa, Portland, Maine, 324 Fore Street: Jake and Ben Robinson (framed version) 600 dpi. John Robinson collection.
Scanned and researched by Adam Mock (Jake’s great grandson).
The Crate or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Antique Phonograph Restoration, by Adam Mock: great story of photo and Jake's phonograph


1905 Portland Directory


1910 Portland Directory



1919, Portland Maine: Isadore aka Robbie Robinson (son of Abraham Robinson & Nellie Spegelman). Joe & Marjorie Chandler collection.

Nelson and Thorner women
June, 1924, probably at Old Orchard Beach, Maine.
Becky Nelson Thorner • Etta Nelson Chase • Rose Nelson Robinson
mystery person
Anna Thorner Glaser (a redhead) • Minnie Marcus Cook
Anne Thorner Stack collection.


circa 1929, Maine: Front L to R: Sylvia Cook, Rose Nelson Robinson, Mystery woman, Becky Nelson Thorner, Minnie Marcus Cook, Mel Thorner.
Rear, L to R: Mystery man, Irving Thorner, Ann Robinson Leman. Anne Thorner Stack collection.

Joe Robinson circa 1936
circa 1936 Montreal: Joe Robinson. Anne Thorner Stack collection.


August 30, 1942: On the steps of Anshe Sfard Synagogue, Portland, ME. photo courtesy of Helen Isenman, Portland.


July 1951 Sand Dunes Picture of Robinson Family at Lake Champlain near Burlington VT. Dan Loeb collection.
Sam and Hymie owned Robinson Woodturning Co which had a factory in Burlington.
Hy Abrahamson ran the factory and Clarence L and Harry R worked as salesmen for the company)
Front Row, L to R: Sam Robinson, Nancy R, Norman R, Dan Loeb with Andy Loeb between his legs, Alan R, Lynette (Lucky) R, Mollie R, Ruth R, Pearl R
Second Half Row: Sadie Silverman, Leah Israel, Esther Abrahamson, Rose Greenberg (?), Bessie Loeb, Roz R
Third Half Row: Anna B Seder (Roz's Mother), Ida Kumin, Alma Kumin, Lou Kumin, Hymie R, Sammy R
Fourth Row: Algie Silverman, Mickey Israel, Louis Abrahamson, Hy Abrahamson, Clarence Loeb, Harry R, Irving Kumin, Robbie R

Eddie Miroff Bar Mizvah, Portland 1956
From left top row: Dave Kates, Hazel Brenneman, David Finkelman, Tela Millman, Jerry & Lois Chase, Dave & Dottie Millman, Joe Robinson, Irving & Esther Robinson
From left middle row: Anne Stairman (daughter of Joseph Nelson), Dick & Jan Chase, son of Hazel Brenneman (name unknown), Etta Chase, Rose Chandler, Anne Robinson Leman, Molly Finkelman, Molly Cook, Rose Robinson?, Sadie & Sam Cook
Front: Irving & Bertha Thorner
circa 1956, Eddie Miroff Bar Mitzvah, Portland. Molly Schwartz Cinamon collection.


1958-60: Beeching St. in Worcester, MA, home of the Harry and Roslyn Robinson family:
Left to Right: Dan, Bessie Robinson Loeb, Andrew, and Stan Loeb. Stanley Robinson Loeb collection


1965 circa: Benjamin Robinson image from The Canadian Jewish Heritage Network


July 17, 1969: The Montral Gazette: Benjamin Robinson obit.


June 9, 1989: The Montreal Gazette: Irving Robinson: The Clean Little Pigs

ONE OF THE GIFTS THAT I GOT FROM MY FATHER
Sharon Robinson Mock

Unlike my mother's constant, enthusiastic, schmaltzy displays of affection, my father's love and support seemed to be more sophisticated, more selective. I wasn't aware of it at the time, of course, but, the consistent low- key attention that he gave me in lieu of gobs of overt adoration, showed me that love comes in a full range of colours, shapes. and degrees of intensity. Over a lifetime, this meting out of attention also taught me the value of patience.

When I was young, every single week day, my father, who worked in a family business, would arrive home at 5: 30. I'm certainly NOT saying that I was ignored by him, but, if I told you that he scooped me up and made a fuss over me as soon as he walked in the door, I'd be deliberately turning this piece into a modern-day fairy tale. Most every week day, after my dad took off his suit jacket and washed up, our family unit of four ( I have a brother, 5 years my junior ) would eat dinner together. Frankly, I can't remember those meals being anything less than really pleasant. And, fun, because, along with my parents' blatant affection for one another and obvious respect for their children, my father was blessed with a good sense of humour and the ability to tell a great story. While we ate, no problems were discussed with him, no problems worked through, in fact, there appeared to be no problems at all. And, that, now that I think about it, could have been part of the problem for yours truly. I'm not positive, but, think I longed for more substantial content.

Most every evening after dinner, still dressed in his good trousers, dress shirt and knotted tie, my father would make his way to his favourite easy chair where he would read, write, or do crossword puzzles until it was time to retire. I don't remember him spending any significant time with me after we all got up from the dinner table. At least, that is what I remember of those days.

And then there were Saturdays and Sundays. Practically every single weekend, the four of us would go on little adventures in, and around, Montreal, where we lived. Again, always pleasant, but, again, I can not remember a solitary one-on-one, life-altering conversation. Bottom line ? Somehow, all of that, " family- together time ", wasn't enough ! I definitely was enjoying the ice-cream, but I was missing the sprinkles. Sprinkles that, I subconsciously decided, ONLY my father could supply. But, for whatever the reason, he simply wasn't doing it.

I grew older, and, slightly wiser. While the family dynamics didn't change dramatically, it seemed that the role that my father played in my life, quietly fleshed out . This metamorphosis played itself out in stages. In a myriad of gentle, subtle, impressive ways, my father finally covered my scoops of ice-cream with those desired sprinkles. And, all the while, I discovered that the man was much, much MORE than that formally dressed father who just sat in his easy chair for hours, not reaching out to me, or to the world around him.

When I was a young teen, my father was one of the movers and shakers who put together a huge Arts and Letters Festival that involved hundreds and hundreds of Montreal's most creative youth. I was standing in the wings of the stage, waiting for my father to begin his role as the m.c. of the Festival's Spelling Bee, when, I just happened to overhear a conversation he was having with a woman who served on this particular committee with him. " My daughter should be competing in this. Nobody her age loves and appreciates the power of words quite as much as she. Mind you, one word at a time isn't her style, exactly. She's fabulous at offering up PARAGRAPHS at a time, ALL the time, but still.....".

The day I turned eighteen, my father was busy running a blood donor clinic that he had organized for his fellow Masonic brothers. I turned up, unannounced, prepared to give blood for the first time. My father had been a blood donor for years and years by this time, and I felt that following in his footsteps would be worthwhile. Without making a huge fuss, or missing a single beat, he immediately introduced me to everyone there. " This is my daughter Sharon. Today is her 18th. birthday. It seems that merely RECEIVING gifts today isn't enough for her. She's decided to be a gift GIVER as well."

In my twenties, a student nurse at the time, my parents and I attended what was to be a musical evening at our synagogue. Minutes before the show was to begin, I was approached by one of the programme's chairmen. " The show's host just called. He won't be able to make it . ( If he gave me a reason, I don't remember now what it was) Your father tells us that you have a really good singing voice, a great sense of humour, and have exceptional leadership skills. Here's the microphone. Have a good time."

In my thirties, married and living in Windsor, I was "Frumah Sarah" in an amateur production of " Fiddler on The Roof. " My mother came into town a few days before the performance, but, my father, who had some important company business to attend to, flew in from Montreal just hours before the opening curtain, and left on the first plane flying out of Windsor the following morning.

When, in my forties, I ran for, and lost, a position of Alderman in Windsor's Municipal Elections, my father comforted me the next day. " Win, or lose, you'll always be a winner in my eyes. "

My beloved father died when he was 88 and I was 55. Thirty plus years of being a grandfather, and ten years of being a great grandfather, had changed him noticeably. He had become emotionally, physically and verbally, utterly delectable,

The day after he died, my mother handed me his wallet and asked me to go through it just in case there was something in it that would prove to be important. Buried under photos of my brother and I, were several dog-eared, brittle, brown-tinged newspaper clippings of pieces that had appeared in one of Montreal's newspapers many, many years before. They were various reviews of then-popular children's books . Written by Sharon Robinson - Age 7. Age seven !! There was now every reason to believe that he originally read, and then cut out, those short articles while sitting alone, in his easy chair, wearing his good trousers, dress shirt, and still-knotted tie. And, while it had taken a long, long while, I was finally able to figured out that, all the while I thought he was simply enjoying well-earned down time, at times he was also lending me his support in the only way that he knew how to, back then. Way back then In those years before he learned how to put words and actions to his feelings for me.

Thank you, for the sprinkles, Daddy !! The ice-cream has melted, but the taste of those bits of colourful sweetness will remain with me forever.


November 30, 1996 Carl Loeb interview of Bessie Robinson Loeb Bondy

the old country their name was Yecht (9 seconds) NEW on YouTube

My grandfather was a Chasidic Jew (9 seconds) NEW on YouTube

 


August 27, 2016: Berkeley: Dan Loeb, seated; Barbara Stack and Carl Loeb.


July 23, 2018
: Portland, Maine: 324 Fore Street: William Robinson, son of Jonathan J. Robinson, son of Benjamin Robinson,
in front of the former Robinson Bros. Store. Photo by Sydney Warshaw.


Memorial Day Weekend 2019, Portland, OR: Reunion of descendants of Abraham Robinson (1876-1942). See the 1951 photo above.
BACK L-R: Wright Watters, Loraina Watters, Lorelei Watters, Stefani McMurrey Watters, Allison Loeb, Norman Robinson, David Weening, Kevin Payton, Eli Loeb,
Alan Robinson, Eric Loeb, Carl Loeb, John Wichers, Maddy Clark, Joshua Clark, Ruth Weening Clark
FRONT L-R: Nancy McMurrey, Stan Loeb, Joyce Loeb, Lynette Robinson, CB Loeb, Deborah (Robinson) Lurie, Emily Loeb, Dan Loeb

 

© Barbara Toby Stack where not otherwise indicated