My brother’s last ride
A tribute to a heckuva guy (even if he was a ride wimp)
After a long and arduous battle with cancer, my brother recently passed away. That’s why you didn’t see an article from me last week. This week, I’m going to pay tribute to my brother and share some of our theme park adventures.
Robert (it should be stated that virtually everyone knew him as “Bob”) Levine was a heckuva guy. I’m not just saying that because I loved him. During his long and highly successful career in executive ground transportation sales, he was beloved by everyone he encountered–and he encountered lots and lots of folks. Robert conducted a daily master class in networking and assembled a rolodex for the ages. (Rolodexes used to be a thing, kids. Look it up.) He worked with captains of industry and dignitaries such as Colin Powell and Bill Clinton, making sure that everything went off without a hitch whenever they came to Boston.
He especially loved working with some of the biggest celebrities, particularly those in the music industry. Robert would be on site at Boston Garden, Gillette Stadium, and Fenway Park, ensuring not only that every act–from the Rolling Stones, to Jon Bon Jovi, The Eagles, and Def Leppard–got where they needed to go, but that they had everything they needed—before they even knew to ask for it. He schmoozed backstage with stars such as Billy Joel–who he vaguely resembled–and Bono from U2.
But Robert was closest with the bad boys of Boston, Aerosmith. He spent so much time with them, I think he could have been considered an honorary member of the band. I remember Robert telling me that when Aerosmith returned from a world tour, for which he arranged the ground transportation, he was on the tarmac at Logan Airport to greet them. When the band members got off the plane, they hugged him and said that seeing him truly made them feel like they were home.
Anybody who was anybody knew and cherished my brother and would do anything for him–as he would for them. Sure, Robert landed accounts and arranged transportation services for his clients, getting them from point A to point B. But what he did was way, way more than that. Robert went far above and beyond for his clients providing doting, impeccable service, all the while developing lifelong friendships. Robert delighted in bringing joy, often unexpectedly, to others. He said that he was going to collect all of his celebrity escapades and write a book that he would call, “Behind the Tinted Glass.”
His influence extended well beyond his day job. Robert helped shape the region’s tourism community as the New England Chapter president of the Global Business Travel Association. He also served on a number of other boards. He was a larger-than-life, one-of-a-kind titan and an unstoppable dynamo. It could be said that he was the unofficial mayor of Boston.
While Robert was arranging rides for his clients, I, of course, was going on and writing about rides. There are some ways in which my brother and I were alike. We both loved to travel, for example. But there were many ways in which we were quite different. Robert wouldn’t go near the coin-operated mechanical horses that used to be outside stores (are they still there?), let alone the roller coasters that I love. He was, to put it mildly, a thrill ride wimp.
Still, we would visit parks together, carefully avoiding anything that might scare him. Just how much of a wimp was he? I knew coasters were out of the question. But I thought Robert might be able to give psychological thrills a go, so he gamely accompanied me one year to Halloween Horror Nights at Universal Studios Florida. We entered the first haunted house, and Robert immediately panicked. You know those incongruous red emergency exit signs that break the theme in haunts? He made a beeline for the first one and busted through the door, setting off an alarm. Then he did the walk of shame to a bench, where he sat and waited for me. That was his first–and only–time in a haunted house.
Sometimes, I’d convince him to try out a ride I thought he could handle. But even the slightest movement–we’re talking about something as innocuous as Peter Pan’s Flight here–would startle Robert, and he’d scream, “Oh Ma!,” an expression he co-opted from our easily frightened grandmother. He would get angry with me for suggesting the offending ride, but soon enough all was forgiven.
There were some attraction successes. Robert liked Toy Story Mania so much, we rode it twice. As I recall, he racked up decent scores. And he got a kick out of the defunct Poseidon’s Fury walk-through experience at Universal’s Islands of Adventure, even though he had an “Oh Ma!” moment when everything went dark in the final scene. He enjoyed going to shows at the parks and was especially wowed by The Bourne Stuntacular at Universal Studios Florida. We had a wonderful family trip to the Nickelodeon Hotel and Resort in Punta Cana. He didn’t go on any of the water slides at the Aqua Nick water park, but he loved getting slimed there and would often bring it up when we gathered at family events. For Robert, the highlight of our park trips–and really, any trip–would be the meals we shared. Food is an abiding passion for the Levine clan.
We loved revisiting the local parks–or at least, what remains of them–that we went to when we were kids. Places like Salem Willows (where we would eat the chop suey sandwiches more for their nostalgia than their taste), Revere Beach (where, sadly, the amusements are all gone, but the glorious Bianchi’s Pizza remains), and Salisbury Beach, (home of the world’s most extraordinary onion rings). See what I mean about our passion for food?
He was my only sibling. I’m heartbroken, and I’m going to miss him dearly. I know I’m going to think about Robert when I visit parks and wonder whether he would have been able to go on attractions with me. As a seasoned park veteran, I don’t get too scared these days by coasters and thrill rides. But if you see me on a midway, don’t be surprised if you hear me scream “Oh Ma!” in honor of my brother.