Breakfast with Robin Williams

Circa 1994, when my daughter Jessica was about 7 years old, she and I drove from San Diego to Tamarack Cross Country Ski Resort on Lake Mary, a short drive from Mammoth Mountain Resort.  It was during the week; I remember she missed school for the trip.

One afternoon she was playing with a young girl and boy on the resort premises.  The kids were taking turns sledding on a flying saucer, on a makeshift run they had created.  They were having a lot of fun, and somewhere I have photographs of the three of them playing on that small hill.

The mom came over and told them it was time to go inside, and the young girl asked if Jessica could have breakfast with them the next morning.  The mom promptly invited me and my daughter to breakfast at 7am in the resort restaurant.

The next morning we sat down to breakfast with the mom, the dad, and Jessica’s new friend and her little brother.  We had a pleasant conversation, but all the while something in the back of my mind was lurking — where do I recognize the dad from?  He looked familiar but I just couldn’t place it.  He wore a ski hat.  He was quite shy and serious in his demeanor, looking down when he talked, and shoulders hunched a bit, and speaking quietly.  I remember he wore a very nice watch, and I remember his arms were hairy, and I remember he was not happy because he had fallen at Mammoth Mountain the day before and had to take the day off due to the fall.  He was just a regular guy.

Later that morning, as Jessica and I were driving back to San Diego, it suddenly hit me.  We’d just had breakfast with Robin Williams, and didn’t even know it because he was not in any of his characters.  Obviously he didn’t use his name when he introduced himself. 

I was shocked at the realization, but sure I was right.

When I got to San Diego, I promptly looked for photos of Robin William’s wife and kids, to validate what I already knew was true.  Sure enough, the images of wife Marsha Garces, children Zelda and Cody, matched the family we shared breakfast with that morning.

To be honest, much of Robin Williams’ humor was too frenetic for my taste.  But it was undeniably genius.  Yesterday, I heard the story that his daughter Zelda, when she was little, requested that he read her stories in his "regular voice", and not in the character voices he was using.  He complied.

That’s the voice I heard, too, years ago, around a breakfast table.

R.I.P.  Robin McLaurin Williams (July 21, 1951 – August 11, 2014).