The Short and Tragic Life of Robert Peace: A Brilliant Young Man Who Left Newark for the Ivy League

by Jeff Hobbs

Like many students accustomed to being the smartest kids in suboptimal high schools, she came to Yale and for the first time felt stupid.

Just as likely, Rob might have taken a vicious offense at this last, cruel turn in his father’s fate: very few people in Rob’s life had cherished their brains more than Skeet, and that was precisely where the disease had fortified itself.

The elderly and wildly successful credit card magnate believed that certain human frailties could actually help fuel success. Insecurity drove billionaire entrepreneurs. Emotional instability made for superb art. The need for attention built great political leaders. But anger, in his experience, led only to inertia.

Actually, his friends had been floored when Rob quit smoking marijuana, even more so than they were when he stopped dealing. Rob Peace, who had smoked practically every day since high school, had quit cold turkey. And he’d done so almost imperceptibly, just passing joints and blunts and bowls along when they came to him, saying quietly, “I’m good,” or, “I already had,” or, “Heading to my ma’s house in a few.” This meant that he was beyond serious about real estate, and the job that allowed him to pursue it. This was not a whim or a stopgap; this was what he wanted to do. Even when he sounded as he had tonight, pissed off and slightly helpless about repeated setbacks, they didn’t worry. For as long as they’d known him, Rob Peace had always achieved what he’d wanted.

Oswaldo had never been as smart as his friend, but he’d sorted his life out with the same odds against him. He was six months from earning an MD and had a probable job waiting for him near Boston counseling abused youths. He’d figured it out. And Rob was still clinging, after all these years, to the idea of being the Man. Oswaldo was no longer interested in seeing what that looked like up close.

Before we went to bed later, Rebecca told me, “Make sure you follow up on that reunion with Rob.” “Sure, sure,” I replied. “Seriously, you should do that. It’s not right that you haven’t seen him in three years.” “I know.” But like so many promises made to oneself, that, too, was quickly forgotten.